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Copyrighted 1892 hy 0 \Ars. Ellen Gow, Glens Falls, Y. 

- 



“ The longer on this earth we live 
And weigh the various qualities of men, 

The more we feel the high, stern-featured beauty 
Of plain devotedness to duty. 

Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise. 

But finding amplest recompense 
For Life’s ungarlanded expense 
In work done squarely, and un wasted days.” 


r> 


CHAS. H. POSSONS, PRINTER, GLENS FALLS. 


T>ear ^ephews and V^ieces : 


I T has been my desire for many years to place in your 
hands this little record of our family history. If you 
had descended from family illustrious in war, or art, or 
statesmanship, you would be grateful for the effort 1 have 
made to tell you all I know of our family. But 
my reason for making this record is not to gratify pride 
or vanity, but to awaken gratitude to God that He per- 
mitted us to descend from God-fearing, virtuous ancestry ; 
that in the highest and best sense we are of “ good blood.” 
My own dear father used to say with tearful eyes : 

“ My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; 

But higher far my proud pretensions rise, 

The son of parents passed into the skies.” 

The generation to which you belong has opportunities 
for education and culture far beyond anything enjoyed by 
your ancestors. But opportunity is only one elenient of 
success in the upbuilding of family character. Would we 
be worthy of our ancestors we must be lovers of “ what- 


3 


soever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, what- 
soever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, what- 
soever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good 
report.” “And the God of Peace shall be with you.” 

That our grandfather’s prayers for his children’s children 
may be abundantly answered in you all is the earnest wish 
and prayer of your 

Aunt Ellen. 

Glens Falls, N. Y., Dec. 29, 1888. 


REV. MATTHEW HENDERSON. 


W E are a family of Scotch descent, our three ances- 
tors, Matthew Henderson, John Murdoch and 
James Gow, all being natives of Scotland. Of their 
ancestry nothing has been preserved. 

Matthew Henderson was born in Glasgow, as his chil- 
dren supposed, and his classical education was obtained in 
Edinburg. He studied theology under the Rev. Alexan- 
der Moncrief, one of the first four Seceeders, and was 
licensed at the early age of twenty-one. Two years after- 
wards, in the year 1758, he was ordained by the Presby- 
tery of Perth and Dumferline, and was immediately sent 
across the Atlantic Ocean as a missionary to Pennsylvania. 
“ He was the third permanent missionary sent by the Asso- 
ciate Church to the British Colonies. His acceptance of 
the appointment speaks highly in favor of his zeal and 
self-denial in the cause of Christ. He was willing for the 
work, and possessed the adventurous spirit which fitted 
him so peculiarly for a pioneer of the Gospel in the 
wilderness.” (McKerrow’s History of the Secession, pp. 
259-274.) Mr. John Foster, an elder in the Associate 


Church of New Perth (now Salem), N. Y., wrote Mr. 
Henderson in the year 1736 or 1737, urging him to come 
to America. His letter concluded with these words : 
“ Such, indeed, who wish to roll in ease and seek great 
things for themselves cannot be expected to enter willingly 
into that part of the Lord’s vineyard where the walls are 
much broken down, where there is much rubbish, and the 
strength of the bearers of burdens much decayed, and 
enemies upon them from different quarters, all of which 
will be found in our case. But to a man endued with a 
suitable measure of the spirit Nehemiah had, such service 
will be undertaken and labored in with some cheerfulness, 
although there should be many reports to discourage them 
from enemies, and Gashmus to back these reports.” 
(Sketches and sermons by James P. Miller, of Argyle, N. 
Y.) Mr. Henderson’s reply to this letter is lost, but the 
fact that he came to the struggling church in America 
shows the spirit of the man. 

His first settlement was in Oxford, Chester County, 
Pennsylvania, where he labored twenty years. During 
this time he, in common with his brethren, had to spend 
a great portion of his time away from home, traveling 
long, wearisome and dangerous journeys to supply the 
many places in different parts of the country which, at 


6 


every meeting of the Presbytery, were sending urgent 
calls for divine ordinances.” Sometimes a minister trav- 
eled five hundred miles to administer the Lord’s Supper to 
the southern churches in the Carolinas. 

In the year 1 779 Mr. Henderson received a call to the 
churches of Chartiers and Buffalo, Washington County, 
Pennsylvania. The churches were at the expense of 
removing his family, and the annual salary was “ one 
hundred pounds hard money ” or “ four hundred bushels 
of wheat, in his option to take which suited him best.” 
He removed west in the year 1782. On account of 
troubles with the Indians his family were left by the way, 
but joined him the next year. He was the first Associate 
minister, and for many years the only one, west of the 
Alleghany mountains. 

Mr. Henderson was one of the three ministers who were 
present at the opening of Canonsburg Academy, after- 
ward Jefferson College, and is thus spoken of in the his- 
tory of Jefferson College: “In July, 1791, a meeting 
was called to see the Canonsburg Academy opened, the 
site of the institution having been agreed upon the day 
previous. Among them was the Rev. Matthew Hender- 
son, a scotch Seceeder clergyman, blessed with Scotch 
talents, Scotch education, Scotch theology, and Scotch 


7 


piety. His memory is still highly cherished as a worthy 
contemporary of McMillan and Smith.” Mr. Henderson 
made the opening prayer. One of the two students of 
the Academy says : “1 must say the broad, vernacular 

pronunciation of the Scotch tongue never could be more 
delightful or impressive than it was while everything 
proper to the occasion was remembered in prayer by 
this good man.” 

While in eastern Pennsylvania Mr. Henderson married 
a lady whose name was Mary Ferris, of Scotch descent. 
She was a woman worthy of her husband, and profoundly 
venerated by her children and grandchildren. She sur- 
vived her husband many years, and found her home with 
her daughter, Eliza Murdoch, our honored grandmother. 
She was the mother of fourteen children, ten of whom 
lived to maturity. Matthew, the eldest son, and Ebenezer, 
the third, were ministers in the Associate Church ; John 
and Robert were farmers, the latter was an elder in his 
father’s church ; Joseph, a physician of great promise, 
died early, unmarried ; Mary married Mr. White, a farmer 
in her father’s church. She lived to see her children of 
the fourth generation. Helen married Dr. Samuel Mur- 
doch, of Washington, Pennsylvania ; Ann married the 
Rev. Thomas Allison, of Mount Hope, Washington 


8 


County, Pennsylvania; Jane married James Clark, a 
farmer of Washington County, Pennsylvania; Eliza mar- 
ried Alexander Murdoch, Esq., of Washington, Pennsyl- 
vania. To quote further from the brief sketch of our 
great-grandfather from which 1 have already quoted : 
“ The most of Mr. Henderson’s children had large families. 
They are mostly, if not all, with the exception of Eben- 
ezer’s family, dispersed in the various regions of the west, 
(meaning the old west beyond the Alleghanies) though 
the larger part are in the regions of their father’s labors. 
Very few have left so many children and children’s 
children who have so generally done worthily and 
held such a respectable standing in civil and religious 
society.” 

In appearance Mr Henderson was of a swarthy com- 
plexion, an erect and majestic figure, and possessed of 
uncommon muscular force. His voice was remarkable 
for distinctness and power. He was famous as an out- 
door preacher at the communion seasons, when the little 
church could not accommodate the great company that came 
from far and near to participate in the yearly holy feast. 

Mr. Henderson met his death by the falling of a tree. 
His little daughter Eliza was with him at the time. His 
sons were felling the tree, and by some strange miscalcu- 


lation the terrible calamity of their father's death passed 
before their eyes. He was buried in the graveyard adjoin- 
ing his church. The following inscription is upon the 
stone that covers his remains : 

“ In memory of the Rev. Matthew Henderson, who 
departed this life October 2, 1795, aged 60 years, and in 
the 3 7th of his ministry. 

In heavenly toils, 0, Henderson ! grown grey, 

Thy earthly frame was hastening to decay. 

Thy growing languor threatened to detain 
Thee from thy loved employment, but in vain ; 

For in thy course no Sabbath failed to attest 
The love of souls that burned within thy breast. 

Till by one transient stroke that gave release. 

Thy Savior bade thee enter into peace. 

Great and most happy change from battered dust 
Into the glorious mansions of the just. 

Let us prepare to measure that bright road, 

The best of all our friends is there — our God.” 


10 


JOHN MURDOCH. 


Our great-grandfather, John Murdoch, was a Scotch- 
man of Highland descent, who emigrated to America from 
the Isle of Bute. The family record was lost, and as all 
the original family have passed away we have no means 
of learning the date of his birth or the year of his emigra- 
tion. His wife, Sarah Brice, was a native of Ireland. 
She was a woman of great energy of character, and for a 
long period conducted her husband’s business as a mer- 
chant, he being a confirmed invalid. They resided in 
Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Her son Alexander often spoke 
of his riding behind his mother on horseback when she 
went to Philadelphia to purchase the goods for the store. 
We find evidence of her industry and fine taste, in curtains 
in our possession, the linen of which was spun and woven 
by her own hands. The embroidery, in the quaint, con- 
ventional figures such as graced the samplers of her day, 
was exquisitely executed. Did she look forward to 
admiring great-great-granddaughters, who would never 
see a domestic spinning-wheel, when she traced with her 


II 


needle “ S. M. 1756” underneath the embroidered figure 
of her wheel ? They were married in Wilmington, Dela- 
ware. Their four children were born in Carlisle, Penn- 
sylvania. In 1 782 they removed to Washington County, 
Pennsylvania. The only incident of their emigration that 
has come down to us is that Mr. Murdoch preceded his fam- 
ily and built a house on his farm. He returned to Carlisle 
for his family, but on their arrival to take possession of 
the house they found it dismantled; floors, doors and 
window-sash all gone. Mrs. Murdoch was a brave wo- 
man, but we are not surprised to learn that she gave way 
to tears in her great disappointment and heavy loss ; for 
we must remember that in those days nails, glass, and most 
of the necessities of life were brought over the Alleghany 
mountains on the narrow trails, by pack-horses and mules. 

John, the eldest son, was a surveyor. He went to 
Texas in the employ of the government. He never mar- 
ried. He died in Louisiana. Samuel, the second son, 
was a graduate of Dickinson College, Carlisle, Pennsyl- 
vania. He studied for the ministry in the Associate 
Church, but, in consequence of a poor voice for public 
speaking, afterward studied medicine, and became a lead- 
ing physician in Washington, Pennsylvania. His first 


12 


wife was Helen Henderson, daughter of Rev. Matthew 
Henderson. She died early, leaving one daughter, Helen, 
who became the wife of Dr. Joseph Templeton, of Wash- 
ington, Pennsylvania. His second wife, Ellen Scroggs, 
was a woman of exceedingly lovely character, whose name, 
Ellen, is borne by the writer of this record. She was the 
mother of one son, John S. Murdoch, whose early death, 
just after finishing his medical studies at Philadelphia, was 
the great sorrow of all the family. He was our mother’s 
best-beloved cousin, and the attached friend of our father. 

Alexander, the third son, our grandfather, was a mer- 
chant, but for eleven years held the office of Prothonotary 
of Washington County. Though not a man of liberal 
education he was a trustee of Washington College, and a 
man of fine taste and generous ideas. His well-worn 
library of the best literary and religious works of his day 
in the English language, gives evidence of his taste and 
culture. He was fond of building ; two of the best houses 
in town were erected by him. One of them, the Fulton 
House, still stands. Its fine architectural proportions and 
elegant finish still awaken admiration. 

The chief excellence of our grandfather was his charac- 
ter as a Christian gentleman, refined, courteous and kind : 


13 


a man aptly described by the Psalmist as one who 
“ sweareth to his own hurt and changeth not.” A friend 
and neighbor, taking advantage of his wealth and generos- 
ity, asked his name as security to his paper. By consent- 
ing to oblige his friend he lost the greater part of his 
wealth. The circumstances under which the security was 
obtained were so dishonorable to his friend that many of 
grandfather’s friends urged him to repudiate the debt by 
taking advantage of a legal technicality. Grandfather 
scorned the suggestion, replying: “I did not expect to 
pay this debt, but having put my hand to a friend’s paper 
1 take the responsibility.” This transaction changed the 
history of the family. They were obliged to sell their 
beautiful home in town at a great sacrifice, as it was a 
time of great financial depression, and remove to the Mor- 
ganza Farm, where for many years the energy of the 
family was directed to the payment of the heavy debt ; 
but no words of regret or reproach ever fell from the lips 
of grandfather or grandmother. 

Their loyalty to each other and to duty made their 
adversity as graceful as their former prosperity. Grand- 
mother was Eliza Henderson, daughter of Rev. Matthew 
Henderson, a woman of stately presence, fine address, and 


strong character. She resembled her father in appear- 
ance and character ; a woman equally fitted to adorn 
society or to take upon her life’s lowliest duties. 

Grandfather died Aug. 1st, I837, aged 66 years. 

Grandmother survived him twenty -seven years, dying 
March 26, 1864, aged 81. 

They were the parents of eleven children, seven of whom 
lived to maturity. 

John R., of Parkersburgh, Virginia ; 

Mary Ferris, married to John L. Gow ; 

Sarah Brice, married to Joseph B. Musser ; 

Elizabeth, married to Thomas McK. Wilson ; 

Esther Ann, unmarried ; 

Alexander, for many years junior member of the law 
firm of “ Gow & Murdoch ” ; 

James Clark, who died in California, leaving no chil- 
dren. 

Esther Murdoch, the only daughter of John Murdoch, 
grandfather’s sister, married John Haggarty of Washing- 
ton, Pennsylvania. She died early, leaving two children, 
John and Samuel. John lived many years in the family 
of his uncle Alexander. He resided in Cincinnati, and 
was for years engaged in steamboating, whence came his 


15 


title “ Captain.” Fifty years after he left his uncle’s 
house, in leaving legacies to his beloved cousin Mary Gow 
and her children, he says : “ I wish in this way to repay 
in part the kindness of my uncle and aunt Murdoch to 
me when a motherless boy.” Captain Haggarty never 
married. His mortal remains lie in the beautiful cemetery 
of Spring Grove, near Cincinnati. 




DEA. JAMES GOW. 


James Gow, our paternal grandfather, was born in 
Ayrshire, Scotland, in the year 1763. Of his ancestry 
we know nothing. The name, Gow, is a very common 
one in the Highlands, but we have no kindred of the name 
in this country save our grandfather’s descendants. 

Grandfather was left an orphan in early childhood. 
There were two older brothers and one sister of whose 
history we have no knowledge. At seven years of age he 
went to London and was apprenticed to his brothers, who 
were tailors. What the history of his childhood was we 
do not know, save that it was an unhappy one. “ In after 
years, in recounting the mercies of God, he would speak 
with gratitude of God’s watchfulness over the orphan boy, 
and of the way in which he had been delivered from the 
perils to which he had been exposed in his tender years.” 

When about seventeen years old, one Sabbath morning, 
he was sent by his brother to carry some work home to a 
customer. As he walked along he found himself among 
a crowd of people, going in the same direction toward a 


17 


chapel. Moved by curiosity he joined the throng-, and 
soon found himself listening to Rowland Hill, the famous 
preacher of the day. As he listened the words of truth 
found a heart ready to receive them. It was God’s hour 
for his soul, and from that day he dated the beginning of 
his Christian life. 

In 1772 he emigrated to America, accompanied by his 
sister (Isabella Wallace), and her husband, also by Mr. John 
Loudon and his wife. As Mr. Loudon was also a tailor 
they concluded to settle in Boston together. In this con- 
nection let me speak more particularly of Mr. Loudon, the 
dear and life-long friend of grandfather Gow. Mr. 
Loudon had no children, but two of grandfather’s sons 
were named for him (one died in infancy), his daughter 
Mary was named for Mrs. Loudon, and seven of grand- 
father’s descendants bear his name. He was a man of 
ardent and devoted piety, and so full of charity that his 
own wants were scarcely taken into account when the 
necessities of others came to his notice, ur OFather, who 
bore his name, often spoke of the tender blessing he 
pronounced upon him as he visited him for the last time 
before leaving home for the south. Father found him 
reading a devotional book ; he gave Father the book with 
these words : “Now unto Him who is able to keep you 

i8 


from falling and to present you faultless before the 
presence of His glory with exceeding joy, to the only 
wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion 
and power, both now and ever, Amen.” These words 
seemed consecrated to Father ever after. They were a 
favorite ending to Father’s prayer at family worship. 

For some reason grandfather became dissatisfied with 
Boston, and in the year 1793 removed to Hallowell, 
Maine, where he spent the remainder of his life. In the 
same year he married Lucy Gilman of Gilmanton, N. H., 
a woman of Puritan descent. She became the mother of 
six children, three of whom, died in infancy. The 
surviving children were: John Loudon (our Father), 
Pamelia, who married Mr. William Robinson, and Mary, 
who never married. Our Father was eight years old when 
his mother died, but he remembered her very distinctly as a 
woman of vigorous mind and earnest piety, slowly wast- 
ing away with pulmonary consumption. The lines : 

“ Jesus can make a dying bed 
Feel soft as downy pillows are, 

While on his breast I lean my head 
And breathe my life out sweetly there: ” 

are sacred to her memory as the last words she uttered 
before falling asleep in Jesus. My Father would frequently 
say to me : “ Ellen you are like my mother ; ” and the 


19 


faltering voice and tear-dimmed eye were a tribute to the 
mother who was scarcely more to his memory than 
a dream. 

The mother’s place was filled in the following year 
by Abigail Say ward, of Old York, Maine, a beloved 
friend of the first mother to whose love when dying, she 
commended her little children, so soon to be motherless. 
Three children were added to the family, Eliphalet, who 
died in 1838 leaving one child. Rev. George B. Gow, 
D. D., who subsequently became the husband of the 
writer of this sketch, Lucy, who married Rodney G. 
Lincoln and died in 1885 , and Joseph, who died in 1861. 
The second mother was so wise and good that the unity of 
the family was perfectly preserved. She was the mother 
of them all in duty and affection, and the children loved 
each other as own brothers and sisters. Father often 
spoke of his step-mother with tender regard, and when his 
first daughter was born she was named Lucy Abigail, after 
the two mothers. In a letter, written a few years before 
his death, to his sister Lucy Lincoln, he said : “ Lucy, do 
you know how much of a Christian your mother was ? 
You know I was a little boy when first under her guard- 
ianship. Well, if there was a kind, forbearing, Christian 
woman in the world 1 believe it was your mother. She 


20 


was a mother to me in every sense of the word. In 
all her course with us as step-children I have only to say 
she was the kindest and best mother 1 can conceive of.” 
She died in I830. 

Grandfather Gow was a plain, unlettered man, his life a 
quiet uneventful one, not remarkable for anything the 
world calls great or successful. But if true greatness 
consists in goodness, holiness, and fellowship with 
God, he was one of the greatest in the Kingdom of 
Heaven. Nearly fifty years have passed since he walked 
among men, and yet his name is never mentioned with- 
out peculiar reverence. He was one of the twelve corpor- 
ate members of the Congregational church of Hallowell, 
and also one of the four who founded the Sabbath School 
connected with the church. In 1812 he was elected 
deacon, an office he held till death in 1842. 

In the early years of his life he worked at his trade, but 
in the later he became a merchant. He was frugal and 
provident, lived in his own house, and gave his children 
the ordinary New England education in the public school 
and academy. 

The most distinguishing characteristics of grandfather 
Gow were his fervent piety and power in prayer. His 
prayers were sought by the sick and sorrowful as of one 


21 


to whom God had given special grace in effectual prayer. 
Many years after his death the following lines were written 
on the occasion of an installation in the Hallowell church. 
They express the sentiment that lingered there concerning 
him. 

“And can we not 

To-night in life-like hues before us see 

Him who our Deacon was, our Christian friend, 

A man of stature small, but in the word of God 
A giant grown ? A book of matchless worth 
Was ever by his side a bosom friend. 

And as he prays, in Scottish accents broad. 

He bears our spirits on devotion’s wing 
From earthly scenes up to the mercy seat. 

Hark ! how he pleads the precious promises ; 

Pleads with a faith that will not be denied ! 

These prayers have now become a song of praise — 
Triumphant praise swelling the song of Heaven.” 

His prayers for his “ children and children’s children to the 
last generation,” made a profound impression on those who 
heard them. All his own children were professing Chris- 
tians, and many of his numerous grandchildren and great- 
grandchildren are his spiritual children. He often rose in 
the night to pray, but not only for his own ; his heart 
reached out to all the world ; the missionary cause, the 
enslaved, the Jew, “ God’s ancient covenant people,” were 
all remembered in his prayers with a fervency that gave 
witness to his profound sympathy for them. 


22 


Professor Shepherd of Bangor, paid the following 
tribute to his memory in an article originally putlished in 
the Portland Mirror. “ In the last century two men came 
from the old country, not far apart, and settled side by 
side on the beautiful hanks of the Kennebec. One of them 
brought with him the easy and liberal type of religion. 
The other was a man of strict and large faith, eminent 
for his spirit and power of prayer. Deacon Gowmade 
the impression on all minds that he was prevalent as well 
as constant in prayer. For scores of years he made his 
doubting friend the special subject of his prayers, till at 
length he became assured that God had heard him in this 
particular, when as yet there were no signs looking to this 
result. He was often heard to express the confident 
belief that Mr. Merrick would become a Christian. And 
he did. And we owe it, we believe very much, to the 
prayers of his countryman that he is a fellow citizen with 
the saints and of the household of God.” 

In an article written for the Congregationalist , the 
Rev. J. S. C. Abbott speaks of Deacon Gow’s cheerful 
religion and tender interest in the young. He took pecul- 
iar delight in recalling the impression made on his young 
mind by hearing him read the hymn : 


23 


“ Children in years and knowledg:e young", 

Your parents hope, your parents joy, 

Attend the counsels of my tongue. 

Let pious thoughts your minds employ.” 

He was so consistent in his Christian character, that 
a young infidel is reported to have said : “ If I had such a 
religion as Deacon Gow has, I would like it.” 

Aunt Lucy Lincoln writing of grandfather, makes this 
emphatic statement : “He was a happy Christian.” Prof. 
Shepherd in speaking of him, when he came over from 
Bangor after his death, said in a prayer-meeting : “ There 
was one admirable trait in Deacon Gow’s religion : that 
was his cheerfulness, and his constant reference to, and 
trust in, the promises of God, and his freedom from 
gloom and austerity.” In the same letter aunt Lucy 
adds : “I never but once heard my father express a 
doubt of his own salvation, and that was while he was 
suffering from a severe attack of sickness — for quite a 
while he was under a cloud and seemed sad. One day he 
went up stairs to lie down, as was his daily custom, but he 
came down sooner than usual, and when I asked him if he 
had slept, he said : ‘ No,’ and added, ‘ Lucy I do not 
think you would call me visionary, or apt to imagine 
things, but I have had a vision. I lay down feeling 
despondent, but looking up I saw what seemed the throne 


24 


of God, and a ray of light coming from it till it reached 
down and enveloped me. I can only describe it as trans- 
parent glory, and I saw Mary as plainly as I ever saw her 
in my life,’ (she had died not long before). He said no 
more, neither did he ever refer to it again, but the beauti- 
ful, peaceful expression of his face I will never forget. 
His doubts were all dispelled and he continued tranquil in 
mind ever after.” 

Thirty years after his death one of his grandsons. was 
traveling in western Iowa. As he gave his name to be 
registered at the country tavern, an old man came across 
the room and asked : “Are you any relation to Deacon 
Gow of Hallowell, Maine ? ” “ I am his grandson,” was 
the reply. “ Then, said the old man I want to shake 
hands with you, for your grandfather was the best 
man I ever knew.” Grandfather died in 1842, in the 
79th year of his age. All the original family have passed 
away, and we doubt not that all have entered into the 
rest prepared for the children of God. I have taken 
great delight in preparing this little memorial of the 
grandparents, from whom in the providence of God it 
was our lot to descend. 


25 





RECOLLECTIONS 

or 

JOHN LOUDON and 

A\ARY nURDOCU GOW 

BY 


TREIR CHILDREN. 


‘ For woman is not undeveloped man, 

But diverse: Could we make her as the man, 
Sweet love were slain : his dearest bond is this, 
Not like to like, but like in difference. 

Yet in the long years liker must they grow ; 

The man be more of woman, she of man ; 

He gain in sweetness and in moral height. 

Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world 
She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care. 

Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind ; 

Till at the last she set herself to man. 

Like perfect music unto noble words ; 

And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time 
Sit side by side, full-summ’d in all their powers. 
Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, 
Self-reverent each and reverencing each. 

Distinct in individuality. 

But like each other ev’n as those who love.” 






4 



JOHN L. GOW, AT 20 YEARS. 













JOHN LOUDON GOW 







MARY MURDOCH GOW. 








f 






“ The trifles of our daily lives, 

The common things scarce worth recall, 
Whereof no visible trace survives. 

These are the main-springs after all.” 


The following papers originated in a desire prompted by 
several motives. When I had gathered up all 1 could find 
of our family history previous to the time of our own Father 
and Mother, I found it very meagre in those details which 
would have interested us most. I longed to know some- 
thing of the home life of our ancestors, their customs, and 
habits and ideas. But those who could have told us had 
made no record and their lips were closed in death. As I 
stood beside the coffin of my beloved Father and looked 
for the last time on his beautiful face, the sense of loss 
came over me, not only for myself, but for the younger 
children and the grandchildren, who could never know 
how much of worth passed from this world when he went 
from us. Mother alone has lived through the whole 
history of our family life. 

This family life naturally divides itself into three dis- 
tinct periods. The first, from 1827 till 1849, when Lucy 
was married shortly after moving into the second house. 


29 


In this house the “ little girls ” Annie and Virginia were 
born and Eliza died. Within a very few years Alex, and 
Jimmie went west, and Ellen began her life as a teacher at 
Oxford. Still there was a large family of young children 
at home, cotemporaries of the grandchildren in the west. 
The second period closed with Father’s death, in 1866, 
when Loudon, Annie and Virginia, were still at their 
studies. Then came the years of Mother’s widowhood, 
the marriages of the younger children of the family, the 
final breaking up of the old household, and the selling of 
the homestead. No child of the family could write the 
recollections of these sixty years, and so the suggestion 
occurred to sister Virginia, that each one should tell of the 
old life from his own standpoint, and thus we should get it 
all. 

These papers have been written hurriedly by very busy 
people, some of whom are invalids, in the style that 
characterizes their ordinary correspondence, for no other 
eyes but those of our own family. If the grandchildren 
of the family shall care to read them, they may perhaps 
see in them some peculiar characteristics of their fathers and 
mothers, their aunts and uncles, that may be interesting 
to them. 

We shall never all meet again in this world. But we 


30 


shall all meet in spirit some day around our Mother’s 
grave. It will be too late then to tell her the thoughts of 
our hearts concerning her, and so it has seemed to me, that 
as this labor of love has come under her own eye, we have, 
like one of old, broken our vases of precious ointment 
while their perfume could cheer and comfort the last days 
of our beloved Mother. Ellen. 

Glens Falls, N. Y., October 21, 1889. 






BY ALEXANDER MURDOCH GOW * 


“ Happy he 

With such a mother ! faith in womankind 
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high 
Comes easy to him, and tho’ he trip and fall 
He shall not blind his soul with clay” 

For the sake of brevity 1 shall speak of Father first, 
giving my recollections and impressions of him, as 1 may 
be able, and then give to Mother the tribute of affection 
that is her due. 

Ours was a religious home. It derived its sanctity from 
the fact that both our parents were professing Christians. 
Father was thoroughly imbued with the principles of 
Christianity as professed by his Scotch and Puritan 
ancestry. He had a strong aversion to Roman Catholic- 
ism as manifested in its church polity, viewing it as alike 
inimical to the principles of religious truth and civil liberty. 
He was well read in the history of the Reformation and a 
firm adherent to the Protestant faith. He was tolerant of 
differences of opinion in matters of faith between individ- 
uals, and thoroughly opposed to any assumption of power 

*Brother Alex, died Mar. 19, 1891. 


32 


by church or state to control the consciences of men. 

He believed in “ systematic benevolence ” and gave 
liberally of his means for the support of the church and 
its enterprises, and to the claims of private charity. To 
this end he laid by “ on the first day of the week ” such 
a sum as he and Mother thought was their due, she acting 
as treasurer of the fund, disbursing it as occasion 
demanded. He was a pious man, and yet he had an 
instinctive aversion to any parade of his faith or his 
feelings. He had deep, abiding faith, and delicate and 
sensitive feeling, but they were too sincere and deep to be 
used in the way of display. There was no gush in 
his nature and no ostentation in his religious duties. His 
library contained much religious literature of value, to 
which he often directed the attention of his family. 
Twice a day the family were called together to engage 
in worship. He was a beautiful reader, and at such times 
we heard with systematic regularity the beautiful stories of 
the Bible. As interesting stories they made impressions 
on our childish minds and hearts that have been inefface- 
able. Then they were matters of interest as stories, now, 
thank God, they are matters of faith. Father delighted in 
music and at the family worship led the praise. We all 
sang and each one was expected to have a hymn book and 


33 


to unite in the song'. There were certain hymns that were 
Father’s favorites ; these soon becamed impressed upon our 
memories, and have been a fund of religious knowledge 
and satisfaction ever since. We learned Watt’s psalms 
and hymns, just as Mother committed to memory Rouse’s 
version of the Psalms, by singing at family worship. 
Father always led in prayer, and it is the memory of his 
prayers that touches me now most deeply, as it was in hear- 
ing him, that I learned rny duties to God and man. 
Father did little in the way of exhortation, but his life, his 
reading, and his prayers were a constant inspiration. 
Sometimes he would read the beautiful and inspiring 
prayers from the Episcopal prayer book, which he 
admired, and with which he was very familiar. This 
gave a variety to our worship, which at times was very 
impressive. Father was a very close observer of the 
Sabbath day. FI is New England training impressed this 
duty upon him, and he insisted upon his family following 
in the ways of his fathers. As the family grew up he 
relaxed the rigor of the rule, as, assisted by the piano, we 
all joined in to sing the old New England choral and 
fugue music which he loved so well. When Sabbath 
came every available member of the family was expected 
to attend public worship, always twice and often three 


34 


times a day. We no more thought of staying away from 
church than from the dinner table. In my early days 
each family had a pew with a hinged door and a fastening 
button to it. Father sat at the head of the pew and the 
rest were arranged to suit their convenience. Each child 
was expected to join in the singing, and all were expected 
to stand in prayer. It was sometimes a weariness to the 
flesh to stand for thirty minutes during the prayer of 
Dr. McConaughy, president of the college, and if I some- 
times went to sleep standing, and my knees gave way 
and let me down to the annoyance of the head of the 
family, I do not feel like apologizing for it now. It 
was sometimes hard after attending Sunday School in the 
morning, to sit through the service of preaching without 
sometimes giving way to sleep, even though it was con- 
sidered a religious duty to keep awake ; and if perchance 
we should endeavor to take a peep into the Sunday School 
book to while away the time, and keep us from nodding 
or snoring, it was not considered an orthodox way of 
hearing the Gospel. As 1 review the past I find great pleas- 
ure in the contemplation of Father's Christian profession 
and life, for I never knew him to do anything in any way 
to reflect shame or dishonor upon it. 

Father was a Christian gentleman of the highest type. 


35 


In manners he was always polite, though rather reserved. 
In dress he was extremely neat though never foppish. 
His hat was always brushed, his boots were always 
polished by his eldest son when he came to years of 
capability, -and that was a job that admitted of no shirking. 
His hands were always neat and clean. Sometimes when 
his hand stuck to the knob of a door, he would say in 
rather a helpless and hopeless way ; “ Mary, I do wish 
those children would not put their hands on the door 
knobs after eating bread and molasses.” 

Father was a scholar ; he enjoyed the English classics and 
was well versed in current literature. He was familiar 
with Shakespeare and set so high an estimate on his writ- 
ings as to say to me : “No person can be a gentleman 
who is not familiar with Shakespeare.” “ What shall 
I read ? ” was the reply. “ Read ‘ Henry the Eighth.’ ” 
That suggestion was a very happy one to me. I read as 
directed, and from the play went into the history of 
England and Scotland, and about all I know of history 
was the outcome of that suggestion. As a result of his 
reading he always used good, pure English. I never knew 
him to indulge in slang, and an impure word, or any kind 
of vulgarity, never escaped his lips. Professor Murray once 
spoke of him in a public address as one of the purest, cleanest 


36 


speakers he had ever met. He was often invited to make 
literary addresses to school societies and at Fourth of July 
celebrations, being recognized in the community as well 
adapted to that kind of literary labor. 

As a lawyer he had a fair standing at the Bar. He 
became intensely and personally interested for his clients. 
He did not set great store upon money save as it served to 
keep us all in comfort. It was not the aim of his life to 
acquire wealth ; whatever we had as a family, beyond 
a living, was more due to Mother’s thrift and forethought 
than to Father’s. 

He valued his library and spent a good deal of money 
upon it. The ideal lawyer with him was a cultivated gen- 
tleman. He was too honest, had too much pride and self- 
respect to permit him to resort to the dubious methods of 
the pettifogger, either in obtaining business, or in securing 
pay. He had no audacity in his professional make-up 
either in court or out of it. One of my pleasant recol- 
lections of him was expressed in one of his letters. He 
said that possibly it would be agreeable to me to learn 
from himself something of the principles that actuated 
him professionally, and that he could say that, in the course 
of a long professional career, he had never “ encouraged 
litigation, and never charged an exorbitant fee.” I did not 


37 


know as to the largeness of the fees, but I did know 
repeatedly of his preventing litigation, and losing fees by 
advising in the interests of peace. 

Father was a thoroughly domestic man. He emoyed 
no place so much as his own home. He cherished his 
wife and loved his children. He was not effusive and 
boisterous in the demonstrations of his affection, or profuse 
in his expressions of regard. What he did was more than 
what he said. His enjoyments were all found at home. 
My earliest recollections are connected with the Fulton 
House which was at that time the private residence of 
grandfather Murdoch. After a time, at the suggestion of 
Mother, they bought the first home of the family, on 
credit, and went there to live. Father made the money, 
Mother saved it. The house was old and dilapidated, but 
by Mother’s ingenuity and invention and Father’s mechan- 
ical skill, the old house was put into habitable shape. We 
lived there fifteen years. Seven children were born in the 
“ old house.” Then was purchased from grandfather’s 
estate the house known as the “ old house ” by the grand- 
children of the family ; a house built by grandfather Mur- 
doch. The family occupied it forty -five years, until the 
breaking up of the old household. Sisters Annie and Vir- 
ginia were born in the second home. Little by little, as I 


38 


recall it, new articles of use and taste were added to its 
furnishings. One of the most conspicuous and highly 
prized was the little old piano, with its rosewood veneer- 
ing and brass inlaid work, its drawers and six, turned legs 
set on brass casters. How we did enjoy that instrument ! 
The older children were sent to singing school to learn to 
read music, that our home concerts might be more 
attractive. We were not a destructive family, and therefore 
we preserved the little mementos of affection as household 
gods. I have now many of the coins and curiosities that 
Father encouraged me to collect when a little .boy ; and I 
have yet the little old walnut book -case in which my books 
and boyish treasures were kept. The book -case and the 
family highchair — in which the twelve children sat suc- 
cessively — are now a part of my family possessions, not 
valued for intrinsic worth, but highly prized as little 
inheritances that remind me of parents, home and heaven. 

In order to promote the intelligence of the home. Father 
constantly added to the library a kind of books adapted to 
the growth and development of the children, such as the 
“Penny Magazine.” Our “evenings at home” were 
consequently spent at the family fireside with pleasure and 
profit. The discipline of such a family was no easy task ; 
on the whole it was equable and reasonable. It was never 


39 


assumed by our parents that their children, like the king*, 
“ could do no wrong.” We never could hope that 
parental partiality would blind them and shield us. As a 
rule though, contrary to the principles of common law, 
we were expected to prove our innocence, and such ruling 
seldom appeared a hardship. As an illustration of 
Father’s sense of duty, one lesson was impressed on my 
mind. Sauntering up the alley one day, curiosity or 
restlessness led me to climb the fence of a neighbor’s lot 
where corn was growing. With boyish thoughtlessness I 
stripped off three roasting ears and carried them home 
and laid them in the kitchen window, not supposing I 
had done wrong to anybody. They came under 
Father’s notice, and he inquired as to how they came 
there. 1 told him frankly, unconscious that 1 had com- 
mitted an unneighborly trespass. He informed me that 1 
should have to pay for the corn, and forthwith the cash 
box in which 1 had deposited my “ cents ” in anticipation 
of Christmas, or the missionary appeal, was opened, 
the contents were emptied into a little red stocking, and 
forthwith we called upon old Mr. O’Harra to repair a dam- 
age he was not conscious that he had received. 1 “ acknowl- 
edged the corn,” they estimated the loss, 1 paid it, and 
came away with a full pardon. It was a severe lesson 


40 


but a good one. Our garden lot was very rough, and it 
required a great deal of work to reclaim it and make it 
the thing of beauty that it afterwards became. Here I 
was taught to work by both Father and Mother who 
joined in the planting of trees and shrubbery and flowers, 
and aided, not only by suggestions and direction, but by 
their own labor, in beautifying the place. This investment 
of our labor made the old place very dear to us, for there 
was not a tree, or shrub, or garden bed that had not its 
pleasing and instructive association. Another home bond 
was made for us by encouraging the love of domestic 
animals and “ pets.” The horse, the cow, the pigeons, 
the squirrels, the opossums, the martins, were all objects of 
interest, curiosity and care. Excepting the horse and cow, 
there was not much profit in the whole output, and yet the 
human ideas fostered by the care of them and the sense 
of responsibility derived therefrom, were a very val- 
uable training. Many a time have I risen from bed with 
a consciousness that I had done, or neglected to do, some- 
thing affecting the comfort of some of the domestic 
animals that needed correction. Father had fine 
mechanical skill and taste which he utilized by having 
an outfit of tools. These he encouraged me to use, and 
the hen-coops and pigeon-houses all attested my tinker - 


41 


ing. To be sure I wasted a good deal of lumber and 
spoiled and wasted a good many tools, and yet it was no 
unimportant part of my education ; and the valuable part 
of it then was that it gave me an interest in the home and 
kept me out of mischief, and was thus worth all it cost. 
Father was liberal in the encouragement of home amuse- 
ments ; we saw a great deal of children’s society at our 
house. He furnished us dominoes, checkers and back- 
gammon, but drew his line inexorably at playing cards. 
His argument was that “ cards are the gambler’s tools,” and 
he was afraid of them and their associations. When asked 
by some gentlemen on a boat from Wheeling to Pittsburg, 
to play, he declined, giving to me his reason, that he 
would not do anything that might lead good people, seeing 
him, to associate him in their minds with gamblers. At 
an early day he sent Lucy and myself to dancing school. 
His object was that we might acquire ease and grace 
of movement in society. We never attended public 
dances or balls, but, as we never lacked music in the house, 
we had full freedom for its enjoyment at home. The 
last time 1 saw dancing in his house was on the occasion of 
our reception, when about two hundred of our friends 
called to welcome my bride and myself home. Some one 
asked him if it would be agreeable to have a dance. 


42 


“ Certainly” he said, “ there is the violin on the piano, 
and there is Mr. Rose the fiddler ; go down to the office 
and enjoy it.” Some of the company went and all seemed 
to enjoy the innocent hilarity. 

Among the happiest recollections of my life are those 
connected with my visits to grandmother’s at Morganza. 
I was the oldest grandchild and something of a pet, 
strong, athletic and foolhardy. I hunted and fished and 
rode at my own sweet will ; but Father never was happy 
when any of the children were away. 

In social life Father was somewhat reserved, except to 
his particular, personal friends. He was not, and could 
not in the nature of things, be a politician in the popular 
sense of that term. He had too much real dignity, too 
much personal pride, to permit undue familiarity. Those 
who knew him best understood the true value of his 
friendship. As he never spent his evenings away from 
home there was a set of gentlemen who occasionally met 
in his office (which was in his dwelling house) to chat, to 
quote Shakespeare, Burns and Byron, and to crack jokes. 
There were R. H. Koontz, uncle Alex. Murdoch, Seth T. 
Hurd, O. B. McFadden, John Bailsman, W. S. Moore, 
W. B. Rose and sometimes Judge Wm. McKennan. What 
a club that did make ! What wit and jokes and fun ! But 


43 


never a word that would make the most fastidious blush 
ever fell from their lips. 

There was another class of men who became very much 
attached to Father because he always called on them for 
labor. “ Old Potter,” “ Old Arnold,” Mr. Dougherty — 
all Irish, or Scotch, Presbyterians. They carted his ashes, 
made his hay, dug his garden and trenches. Also Alex. 
Staub, the carpenter, and General Sherer, the builder. I 
took lessons from all these men. I must not forget 
Hughy Logan and Adam Beck who were his clients and 
special admirers. 

He was always a power in the society of the literati of 
the town, comprising the ministers, the professors of 
the college, and such scholarly strangers as came to 
the place. He had great sympathy for strangers and 
easily won their confidence and friendship ; but 1 remember 
that there was one exception. Prof. Suminsky, an exiled 
Pole. He was an accomplished man in language, music 
and painting, and was obliged to earn his bread by his 
teaching. Being a stranger in a strange land. Father pitied 
him and tried to win his confidence in order to lighten the 
burden of his life. One day Father invited him into the 
office and tried to engage him in conversation, but the 
Pole was reticent and unwilling to receive the courtesy 


44 


that Father was forcing upon him. When he went out 1 
expostulated with Father for his efforts to entertain an 
unwilling auditor, when he turned to me and said with 
a good deal of feeling : “Do you know what it is to be 
an exile ? ” I said, not fully understanding the question, 
“ No sir.” “ Well then you had better read.” “ What 
shall I read ? ” After a moment’s hesitation he replied : 
“ Read Byron’s ‘ Two Foscari.’ ” I read it and never won- 
dered why poor Suminsky died of delirium not long after- 
wards in the streets of Pittsburg. 

Before Father was fully established in his profession he 
accepted the position of Professor in the English Depart- 
ment of the College. He was an enthusiastic teacher, and 
a great friend of general education. He was an ardent 
advocate of the common school system when it was intro- 
duced into Pennsylvania, and Washington County was 
one of the first that accepted it. He was the first “ County 
Superintendent of Schools ” in our county, and was a con- 
scientious and efficient officer. He was for years a trustee 
of both Washington College and Washington Female 
Seminary. 

He was a close student of our political history and hated 
slavery with intensity. He studied law in eastern Virginia 
and would have settled there had it not been for slavery. 


45 


I have heard him relate his observations of the patri- 
archial system ” forty years after their occurrence, and the 
recollection would bring tears to his eyes. After my mar- 
riage 1 was offered several places in the South which 
promised a good living. He was opposed to my going 
South to teach. As a conclusion to our final discussion of 
the subject he said: No child of mine can settle in a 

slave state and receive my blessing.” That settled the 
question ; and I have never ceased to thank God for the 
wisdom of the decision. 

In the Harrison and Tyler campaign of 1840 he partici- 
pated in the public political discussions with great ardor, 
for he was a thorough Whig, and a great advocate of the 
“ protective tariff.” Subsequently, on the dissolution of 
the Whig party, he became an ardent Republican. 
Though an intense opponent of slavery and its extension, 
he could not see his way clear to join the Abolition party. 
His difficulty was not as to slavery, but as to the most 
practicable way of getting rid of it. In the summer of 
1 849 he was appointed to the Board of Visitors of West 
Point by President Taylor, on the solicitation of his friend, 
Hon. T. McK. McKennan. 


46 


OUR MOTHER. 

A woman who rears ten children, four of whom are 
boys, deserves a monument. Ours is just such a Mother ; 
and if we cannot rear a suitable monument of marble or 
brass to commemorate her worth, we can, at least, give a 
united testimony in her favor, that her descendants may 
be stimulated to emulate her virtues. She was a most 
devoted wife. Like Father, her worth was not to be esti- 
mated by her words. She was not effusive or demonstra- 
tive in the expression of her feelings, but her constant 
care, her unceasing watchfulness, her unwearied labor, 
amply demonstrated her devotion. There always seemed 
to be entire unanimity of feeling and opinion between 
Father and Mother in the management and government 
of the family. There were mutual deference and respect 
for each other. Mother assumed the management of the 
house and children, as a rule, without troubling Father. 
She was blessed with extraordinary health and vigor, and 
was thus able to carry all our burdens as well as her own. 
She was a thrifty housewife, planning, superintending and 
governing the household in all its departments. She was 
a good housekeeper who always subordinated show and 
parade to comfort and convenience. She was the last to 
retire at night and the first to rise in the morning. The 


47 


getting up in the morning was a habit she contracted by 
going to market before daylight, on Wednesdays and 
Saturdays. Green grocers, provision stores, and meat 
markets were unknown to Washington in those days. 
We depended on the farmers and their wives for our 
supplies, and they could only come to town twice a week. 
Fresh meat could only be obtained twice a week. 
1 almost, pretty nearly, but not entirely contracted the 
same habit by being routed out market mornings to carry 
home the provisions she purchased. By taste, disposition 
and habit she was a domestic woman. But she never 
neglected the claims of society or the church. With 
all her domesticity she was a good neighbor and faithful 
friend. She never failed in hospitality to strangers, call- 
ing upon them and entertaining them at her table. 
Although the cares of her own household were great, she 
could and did find time and opportunity to look after those 
individuals and families who needed her help. She was 
large-hearted and liberal in her efforts to help those who 
needed assistance. It was due to this disposition that we 
almost always had some one as a member of our household 
who needed the help she could thus afford. As a rule those 
who came into the family as domestics, both black and 
white, remained in service a long time, some of them for 


48 


years. Mother was kind to her servants and considerate 
of their welfare, and the result was a mutual confidence 
and respect. Of these there were some remarkable 
instances. Nettie — I never knew that she had any 
other name — was a little colored waif that strayed into her 
employ. She said she was a “ very pinkstinkative 
nigger and did’nt ’sociate wid common niggers.” Still 
she was as unfortunate as her sisters and as frail. She 
left us and disappeared. After some time she appeared 
in the kitchen with her baby in her arms wanting a place. 
Mother said : “ Oh Nettie ! I don’t think I can take 

you again ; what can I do with two babies in the house ? ” 
“ Well, Mrs. Gow, what’ll I do with it ? I can’t kill it.” 
That was what touched the mistress ; and so she laid the 
case before Father, and after due argument it was 
concluded to try the poor girl again even with the encum- 
brance of her baby. In due time Nettie left and drifted 
out of sight. But years after — twenty, perhaps — a little 
stubby colored woman followed by several youngsters 
bigger than herself, presented herself to Mother in a 
friendly complimentary call. It was Nettie, who had 
married well and settled in a house of her own. She had 
come to thank Mother for her kindness in teaching her to 
be useful and respectable — a very valuable home mis- 


49 


sionary work. Thirty-five years after leaving our home a 
big, motherly, German-American woman, accompanied by 
a stalwart young man, her son, introduced herself as 
Catherine Koech and had come in a complimentary visit to 
thank Mother for her watchful care and instruction when 
she was her poor, ignorant servant girl. Of course there 
was mutual gratification in the visit. 

For thirty years there never was a day that she did not 
have a baby in the house, and sometimes several of them. 
A little incident will illustrate the principles that governed 
her life. At an early period, when she had but one child. 
Father came into the house, and, missing the baby, said : 
“ Where is the baby } ” Mother replied that she had let 
her little servant girl take it down street. Father replied, 
“ Mary, if you had some valuable jewelry, would you 
entrust it to Annie’s keeping ? ” Mother took the kind 
reproof, put on her bonnet, and hastened to bring back the 
baby ; and from that day a Gow baby was never 
entrusted to little servant girls. 

On one occasion an excellent and public spirited lady 
called upon Mother to invite her to unite with others 
in establishing and conducting a “ Maternal Aid Society.” 
She kindly and respectfully declined. The reason she 
afterwards gave was this ; “ While the ladies were met 


50 


talking about it, 1 was at home doing it.” In religious 
feeling, duty and responsibility she was entirely in sym- 
pathy with Father. She was born and bred a Scotch - 
Irish Presbyterian, and therefore she was, as Dr. Brownsori 
expressed it, a “ little Pauline in her views as to the 
relation of women in the churches.” She was not given 
to talking her religion, but rather to living it. 

We belonged to the old, orthodox school of medicine 
as well as theology. Nothing sugar-coated for us ! 
Whiskey, Aloes, Peruvian Bark, Salts, Opium, Hiere 
Picra (I don’t know that I have spelled that ' stuff right, 
but no matter, I can taste it now, though 1 haven’t had a 
dose of it for half a century), Castor-Oil, Antimonial 
Wine and Phlebotomy were the fundamentals of our 
practice, not omitting Gamboge pills, almost as large as 
wild cherries and as bitter as quinine. The more nauseous 
the dose, the better the medicine. Mother’s practice did 
not embrace all of the above. She commenced, when her 
children were ailing, with bathing the feet and putting 
them to bed, assisting nature with a dose of castor-oil or 
salts, as the case required. If that failed, as it sometimes 
did, the doctor was called and then the circus opened. 
Many a time by the doctor’s direction have I held the young- 
ster’s nose in order to compel it to swallow his nauseous 


5i 


prescriptions. Whether such a rumpus was good for an 
incipient fever I did not stop to inquire ; he was the doc- 
tor, and his school would not tolerate any foolishness. 

One hot summer day I came in complaining of head- 
ache, and was sent up to my room to bed. Shortly after 
Mother came up with a dose of castor-oil. Now headache 
was bad, but castor-oil — pah ! the very idea made me 
shudder. Taking the cup, half full of the dreadful stuff, 1 
rose upon my elbow and threw it out of the window. It 
was ungracious and impolite, but it settled the diagnosis of 
the case in her mind. She concluded very quickly that I 
was not very ill, and forthwith she ordered me down to 
the pavement below to scrub the oil off the stones. I 
went, and in that way, I guess it was, that dose of oil 
cured my ailment. 

Until I was a young man I never came in late at night 
that 1 did not find her awake, waiting for my return, 
except on one memorable occasion. I was belated one 
night when I should not have been, and, knowing Mother’s 
vigilance, 1 determined to slip in and go to my room with- 
out her knowledge. About three o’clock in the morning 
my room door opened and there she stood. All the 
remark she made was : “ I’ve been waiting for you all 
night.” An apology was in order next morning, accom- 


52 


panied with the promise that that performance should 
never be repeated, and it never was. 1 do not know 
which was hurt the most, but those words ring in my ears 
to this day — “ I’ve been waiting for you all night.” 

Possibly it was to her self-denying watchfulness that 1 
owe my escape from the danger of inebriety, by which so 
many of my college mates were ruined. It was Saturday 
night. I was at choir meeting, and it was cold and 
wintry, with deep snow. As I returned from escorting 
one of the ladies home I met some Canonsburg students, 
who had come over as a sleighing party. I went to the 
hotel with them and Mr. Sharp, the leader of our choir. 
For the sake of sociability mint- juleps were ordered. 1 
did not know the nature of mint -juleps, but found they 
were very palatable. I noticed that Sharp, who was older 
and wiser than I, tasted his glass and quietly threw its 
contents under the table. This aroused my suspicions, 
but it was too late. I found I was becoming tipsy, and, 
soon separating from the company I sought the street, 
hoping that the fresh air would afford relief. I walked 
far down the middle of the street, but it was of no use. 
It was getting late, and I must go home even at the risk of 
meeting Mother, who, 1 hoped, had lain down with the 
baby. I went into her room to get the light that I expected 


53 


would be lit for me at her bedside. She was not yet in 
bed, but had gone to the cellar for slack-coal with which 
she expected me to cover the tire. She was at the 
foot of the stairs, 1 was at the top ; but the moment she 
saw me, with a Mother’s intuition she discovered my con- 
dition. I was put to bed. All the remark she made on 
the occasion was : “ Shall I tell your Father of this ? ” 

I said: “No, 1 would rather you would not.” Next 
morning I was worried how to go to breakfast. As 1 
entered the room she was sitting at the head of the table 
as usual. Our eyes met, but nothing was said. During 
the day she asked me how the affair happened, and what 
company I was in. 1 told her frankly, giving her the 
assurance that such a thing should never occur again. 
She accepted the explanation and was satisfied. Her good 
sense and prudence made me resolve never to get into 
such a condition again, even by accident. 

One little incident more, and my labor of love shall 
close. I was a young man twenty -four years of age. 
One evening 1 came in late, and, as usual, passed through 
Father’s sleeping-room to get my light. Father made 
some bantering, humorous remark about my lateness, and 
asked me if 1 was engaged to that young lady at the Sem- 
inary whom 1 was courting very assiduously. I evaded 


54 


the remark, when he continued that he had about fallen 
in love with her, and if I did not take care he would cut 
me out himself. I felt much gratified that Miss Sybil 
St. John had made such an agreeable impression ; which 
impression, I am glad to say, he always retained. 

Fontanelle, Iowa, 1889. 




55 


BY LUCY ABIGAIL GOW CHARLTON. 


“ Children’s children are the crown of old men : 
And the glory of children are their fathers.” 

Prov. 17:6, 


Whether my text is one of those that seem to require 
an “ ought to be ” in it, or whether the exceptions, of 
which there are so many, prove the rule, I do not know, 
and, being among that class who are enjoined to “ keep 
silence in the churches,” I am not called upon to expound 
the passage for others, and, for myself, I can accept either 
horn of the dilemma. 

Looking back to the queer little town where 1 was 
born and lived until I married and struck out for the 
great west, 1 can remember many families which verify 
my text, and 1 can, I trust, be pardoned the egotism that 
makes me look back with pride to the fathers who, in 
our line of ancestry, were the “ glory of their children.” 
Leaving those of the family who are nearer the sources of 
information to glory over the ancestral virtues of the 
Hendersons, the Murdochs and the Gows, I, who have 
drifted to California and must depend on my own mem- 


56 


ory, will have to speak, as far as possible from that 
source, of that branch of the family founded by our 
beloved Father, John L. Gow, and our very dear Mother, 
Mary Murdoch ; founded in the days when men and 
women still believed God’s words : “ Lo, children are an 
heritage of the Lord : and the fruit of the womb is his 
reward.” “As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man : 
so are the children of youth ; happy is the man that hath 
his quiver full of them ; they shall not be ashamed, but 
they shall speak with their enemies in the gate.” Early 
in their married life, they secured what every family 
should have if possible, a home of their own, and although 
the house was not as handsome as some of the surround- 
ing homes, it was our own, and of the large garden in the 
rear, it might almost be said : “And the Lord God 
planted a garden eastward in Eden ; ” and there he put this 
modern Adam and Eve. One of the peculiarities of our 
old town was the combination of its homes and business 
places ; thus making it practicable for a man to carry on his 
business and keep up acquaintance with his family. 
So, with our Father’s law office in front and the garden 
where he spent many of his leisure hours in the rear, we 
children were well acquainted with our Father ; an 
acquaintance to the renewal of which we all look forward. 


57 


“ For love will last as pure and whole 
As when he loved us here in Time, 

And at the spiritual prime 
Rewaken with the dawning soul.” 

One of the blessings of our early home lay in the fact 
that, although we were more under the influence of the 
stern, old-time religion then we are to-day, Father and 
Mother were both singularly broad and liberal, both 
recognizing the fact of youthfulness ; so that while we 
were brought up on the “ Shorter Catechism,” we were 
allowed a great deal of Christian liberty, even to the 
extent of dancing, and in our delightful Sabbath song-serv- 
ice our Father actually used a “ sinful fiddle.” 

Out of this holy alliance came what in this degenerate 
age seems an immense number of “ olive plants” — twelve. 
And I may certainly be pardoned in my old age, if I 
indulge myself in the God-implanted pleasure of repro- 
ducing the memories of the early years in the lives of 
these children. First came Alex., Mother’s pet, our 
Reuben, the “ beginning of our strength.” Strong, healthy, 
vigorous and dilatory, needing and receiving the discipline 
which he needed to fit him in after years for the success- 
ful training of boys. Those were old-fashioned times 
when “ correct thy son and he shall give thee rest, yea he 
shall be a delight to thy soul ” was more intimately con- 


58 


nected with the rod, than in these days of moral suasion. 
It cannot be denied that Alex, and Lucy received more 
rod correction and discipline than the younger members of 
the family. Wasn’t he grand when in his early days the 
care of Pacer, uncle Murdoch’s horse, was given to him ? 
And when the family increased so that Mr. Bristow’s 
carriage could not hold us all, in our delightful visits to 
Morganza, wasn’t he a fair Napoleon, as he rode on 
Pacer alongside the carriage ? Don’t I remember how 
I gloried in his learned ability to call his dog “ Canis” ? 
Dear Alex., will these blessed memories of our early days 
be among the “ old things that have passed away ” when 
“ all things become new ” ? 

Next came Lucy, Father’s pet, though an awful trial to 
him on account of her want of neatness; he being im- 
maculate in every respect and she — well! if you could 
have seen her dog-eared school books after she had used 
them for a session 1 Some one else will have to portray 
her virtues, since it is written: — “ Let another praise thee 
and not thine own mouth.” 

(I have met many distinguished good women — I have 
met many brilliant women — but I never met a better, 
or more brilliant woman, than my dearly -beloved sister 
Lucy. Ed.) 


59 


At this point came our first “ In Memoriam.” 


“ I hold it truth with him who sings 
To one clear harp in diverse tones, 

That men may rise on stepping stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things.” 

“ But who shall so forecast the years 
And find in loss a gain to match, 

Or reach a hand through time to catch 
The far off interest of tears ? ” 

“ I hold it true whate’re befall, 

I feel it when I sorrow most, 

’Tis better to have loved and lost 
Than never to have loved at all.” 

And so here 1 must write of the wonderful power of 
the little grave, where, with “ a lively hope of the resur- 
rection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance 
incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away,” 
was laid the precious dust of the “ first Eliza.” And who, 
except the Father above can know the power of that little 
grave ? She never was allowed to pass out of our minds 
because out of sight, but was always reckoned as one 
of ourselves. Heaven was brought to our very door ; 
and who shall say that by this influence we were not 
made more heavenly } 

“ When the baby died. 

On every side 


6o 


Swift Angels came in shining, singing bands, 

And bore the little one with gentle hands 
Into the sunshine of the spirit lands ; 

And Christ the Shepherd said, 

‘ Let them be led 
In gardens nearest to the earth 
****** 

Laughs from the little ones may reach 
Their ears, and teach 

Them what, so blind with tears they never saw. 

That of all life, all death, God’s love is law.’ ” 

And so through this precious dust our sorrowing Father 
and Mother and we children were brought nearer to each 
other and nearer to the blessed Saviour, who said : “ Suffer 
the little children to come unto me.” 

How shall I write in the limited space allotted to me of 
my beloved sister Ellen. In the words of King Lemuel, 
“ the prophecy that his mother taught him,” by a pretty 
conceit we used to find our birthday verses. I think our 
Mother’s is : “ She is like the merchants’ ships, she 
bringeth her good from afar,” laughingly made applicable 
to her, by her habit of attending the early morning 
market. Being far from the family record and not 
knowing the date of Ellen’s birth, I take the liberty of 
ascribing to her all the virtues commencing with — “ who 
can find a virtuous woman ? Her place is above rubies” — 
and ending, “ give her of the fruit of her hands, and let 


6i 


her own works praise her in the gates.” And who shall 
say me nay ? 

Next in order comes our studious brother, James, 
familiarly known as Jim, though called for one of the 
best of men, his grandfather Deacon James Gow, and in- 
heriting, even in his early boyhood, so much grandfatherly 
gravity as to gain him the name of the Deacon. 

Then came the beloved and loving sister's, Mary and the 
“ second Eliza,” who, though separated by the usual two 
years, were, by a pleasant conceit of the family, growing 
out of their nearness in age and their devotion to each 
other, called the twins. And here again the death angel 
claimed his own, and we were left sorrowing for ourselves 
and for the sister who seemed doubly bereft, though she 
could say : 

“ Dear one far off, my lost desire, 

So far, so near in woe and weal ; 

0 loved the most, when most I feel 
There is a lower and a higher ; 

'* Known and unknown, human, divine : 

Sweet hand and lips and eye ; 

Dear heavenly friend that canst not die, 

Mine, mine, forever, ever mine.” 

Never shall I forget the impression made upon me then, 
a young mother, by our Father’s reading over that beloved 


62 


body the fifteenth chapter of 1 Cor. : “ O death where is 

thy sting ! O grave where is thy victory ! ” — Death being 
swallowed up in Victory. 

“ She is not dead, the child of our affection, 

But gone into that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 

And Christ himself doth rule.” 

We are pleased to feel that with the sacred name of our 
Father, John L. Gow, his mantle has fallen upon our 
beloved brother John, whose memorial I must leave to be 
rendered by those nearer to him, and consequently better 
acquainted with him ; I reserving the hope of a better 
acquaintance “ when this mortal shall have put on immor- 
tality.” This brings me to my darling Minnie; kindly 
lent to me by oyr indulgent Mother, when I, having left 
the home-nest, was building one for myself. How 1 wish 
1 could be near her, to revive the memories of those early 
days, when “ we took sweet counsel together.” Though 
separated by years, we were singularly near to each other 
in feeling ; I being very youthful, thank God, and she 
very mature. How her presence lightened my sojourn in 
Minnesota ! 

One of the happy remembrances of my early married 
life arose out of our blessed Mother’s unselfishness in per- 
mitting the younger children, my beloved Mary, John, 


63 


Minnie and Loudon, to be much with me in my new 
home, which was, fortunately, very near. Never shall 1 
forget the trial which my marriage brought in compelling 
me to leave my precious Annie, who was then a baby in 
Mother’s arms. I always held a high position in the fam- 
ily nursery, which, however, I had resigned before the 
birth of little Virginia, whose acquaintance I have yet to 
make. Having served so continuously in this capacity in 
my Mother’s, my own, and my children’s families, 1 think 
if there is a nursery in heaven, I may be eligible for a 
position therein. Thus I have furnished my portion of the 
family record. Am 1 chargeable with the folly of those 
whose inward thought is, that “their houses shall continue 
forever ; and their dwelling places to all generations ; who 
call their lands by their own names ” ; or have I, in writing 
of a very happy and blessed family, every member of 
which is looking forward to a glorious reunion, claimed 
our right to the latter clause of my text — “ The glory of 
children are their fathers ? ” 

Oakland, California, 1889. 


64 


BY ELLEN GOW. 


“ Glad sig:ht wherever new with old 
Is joined through some dear home-born tie; 

The life of all that we behold 
Depends upon that mystery. 

Vain is the glory of the sky, 

The beauty vain of field and grove, 

Unless while with admiring eye 
We gaze, we also learn to love.” 

It was very, early impressed on my mind that, as a 
family, we were in many particulars very different from 
our neighbors. We were more industrious and more 
economical than our poorer neighbors, and better home- 
builders than our richer and more prosperous ones. By 
home-builders I mean there was a certain homogeneous- 
ness about us as a family that made us a remarkably 
united one. We loved the same things ; we were amen- 
able to the same ideas of duty, honor and religion. There 
was a clan feeling that made us rejoice together and suffer 
together more completely than any family 1 ever knew 
consisting of so many persons of so diverse temperaments. 
As years have passed and experience has widened 1 have 


65 


sought out the causes that made our family what we are. 

The blending of good, New England, Puritan stock in the 
Gilmans of New Hampshire with the Scotch blood of 
grandfather Gow, made our Father a typical New England 
man — well educated, cultivated, reticent, domestic, ingen- 
ious with tools, musical, a natural teacher, and, withal, the 
power to become a self-made man. Mother came of 
almost pure, Scotch blood; a western Pennsylvanian, 
strong in body and mind, educated as far as the girls of 
her day were accustomed to be, industrious, tasteful, skilled 
in artistic needlework and drawing ; a good housekeeper, 
fulfilling the Bible idea of the “ virtuous woman ” in all 
wifely, maternal and social duties. She was eleven years 
younger than father, and must have seemed very young to 
him, when at nineteen, she became his wife. He was 
at that time in very delicate health, threatened with 
consumption, the disease of which his mother died early 
in life. When he asked her in marriage her father said : 
“ Mary, he will not live six months.” “ Then I will marry 
him and nurse him,” was her reply. And she nursed him 
for forty years. The love of Father and Mother was a 
rarely perfect love. Mutual respect and perfect confidence 
were evident to every one who ever knew them for a day. 
They supplemented each other. Mother was stronger in 


66 


health and physical endurance, and it was her delight, so 
far as it was possible, to relieve her husband of all domes- 
tic care and family government, that he might excel in his 
profession, and do his work with the least strain and the 
greatest comfort. I do not suppose Father ever passed a 
day of his life free from pain or physical discomfort. 
Mother’s financial ability was so good that Father always 
felt that the property accumulated was quite as much, if 
not more, due to her economy and good judgment, as 
to his own power to earn it. 

After a few years of married life they always lived in 
their own house, so that we lived in but three houses 
during more than fifty years of our family history. It 
was at Mother’s suggestion that both of the houses which 
we owned were bought and repaired. The house known 
to the grandchildren was built by grandfather Murdoch 
and was purchased from his estate. It had been used as a 
hotel after grandfather left it to live in the house now 
known as the Fulton House. When we went into the 
second house there was a family of nine children — the 
“ first Eliza ” having died in childhood — all still at home. 
We all gave our energies to make the new home. The 
back buildings were torn down and one new one erected. 
The garden was made, even to the very soil. All the 


67 


children worked upon it with their hands according; to 
their ability, and soon the old hotel was transformed into 
a pleasant home. Annie and Virg:inia were born in the 
second house, and from it our dear little Eliza was called 
away when Virginia was only a few days old. John 
L. G. Charlton was born in this home. And so our 
home was made by the united love and industry of us all. 

Dr. Brownson, our pastor, once asked Mother what 
was her system of family government. She replied : “I 
do not know that I have any system, I just try every day 
to do the best I know how.” It is true there was no 
theory talked about very much, but there was a tremen- 
dous unconscious influence prevalent in the family govern- 
ment. Our consciences were trained ; and our parents 
knew that their business was to make the soil for the 
truth, and to see that the good seed was sown in it. We 
were a peculiarly independent family ; we never wished 
to lead or to follow. We loved and respected our equals, 
and to our social inferiors were as respectful as to our 
equals or superiors. We would have been reproved for 
any disrespect to our old washerwoman as quickly as for 
the same offence to any lady in the town. It was a surprise 
to some of Mother’s friends that she always called her 
colored washerwoman “ Mrs.” Grayson. Mother replied 


68 


" 1 want to honor the marriage relation among the colored 
people.” But while we were thus taught to honor the 
despised and lowly, not one of the family had any taste 
. for the company of the low and vicious. Once in my 
early childhood I saw Mother do something I never forgot. 
We were sitting at the front door, as was our custom, 
when suddenly a crowd of men and boys appeared on the 
street, surrounding a miserable young woman who was 
holding old “ Bobby Bell,” the Scotch weaver, by the arm. 
They were both very drunk, and the laughable, shameful 
scene amused the coarse, boisterous crowd. The sight was 
distressing and shocking to any decent woman. In a mo- 
ment Mother’s mind was made up. When the crowd 
reached our door. Mother walked to the middle of the street, 
took hold of the woman, who was much larger than herself, 
led her into the house and shut the door in the face of the 
jeering crowd. Never was a set of rowdies more astonished 
and foiled in their wicked designs. One of the fellows came 
into the house and claimed that the woman was his cousin, 
and pretended to be ashamed of the way in which she was 
disgracing the family. Mother replied : “ I will see that 
your cousin is taken care of ” ; and, sending for a constable, 
she had her charge placed in safe custody for the night. 

Father loved and revered his New England home, its 


69 


traditions and associations, with a peculiar tenderness, and 
so deep an impression did his New England ideas make 
upon his whole family that 1 have often said that we were 
a New England family “born out of our native land.’' 
When 1 went to Oxford to school and became acquainted 
with New England people on Ohio soil, and later when 
I became a teacher at Wellesley College and finally made 
my home in Massachusetts, I found out why we were 
a peculiar people in Western Pennsylvania. That strange, 
democratic, aristocratic mixture in us that has been so 
puzzling to everybody, and has occasioned us so much 
discipline in life, is easily explained when we study Father 
and xMother critically. They were both characterized by a 
self-respect that forbade intimacy with the low-minded 
and vulgar, and yet they respected the rights and privileges 
of everybody in the community, and were especially 
desirous that “ all sorts and conditions of men ” should 
rise to the highest point of prosperity and culture of which 
they were capable. In our social life and in our hospital- 
ity, the question was not so much what will be advantage- 
ous to us, but what can we do to make others happy, and 
what is due them from us. We observed the Scripture 
precept, “ use hospitality without grudging.” 

We were brought up in an atmosphere of thought and 


70 


intellectual conversation. 1 cannot rem mber when we 
did not have book-cases stored with reference books and 
standard literature ; and it was Father’s habit to send us to 
dictionaries and encyclopedias to find the answers to our 
own questions. He taught us to use books in the study of 
subjects, and yet I cannot remember anything he said 
about it, but I found when I went to Oxford, that with 
one exception 1 was the best read woman there. Father 
and Mother were both fond of reading aloud to us, and 
frequently, in the early days, the servant girl would join in 
the circle, with her sewing — we had no sewing machines 
in those days — and Mother or Alex, would read from 
Hannah More’s “ Tales and Allegories,” or “ Hogg’s 
Tales,” or “ Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life.” At 
one time it was one of the regular exercises on Sabbath 
afternoon to listen to Father read from “ Hunter’s Sacred 
Biography.” Father would sometimes vary the form 
of family worship by reading from Scott’s Bible, including 
in our devotions the “ Practical Observations.” We were 
encouraged to commit to memory fine poetry, and the 
constant singing of good hymns served the same purpose. 
As a family we never read doubtful literature, or even 
many strictly children’s books. We all took to real, 
“ grown-up ” literature early. I remember one day, when 


71 


quite a young girl, that I was baking bread in the kitchen, 
and that, in the intervals of my work, my mind was 
occupied with one of Scott’s novels. Father, passing 
through and seeing me thus employed, expressed much 
pleasure and approbation, saying : “ Read all you can while 
you are young, before the cares of life press upon you.” 

I have said Father was a natural teacher. One day 
as we sat at table, the light was so refracted that there 
seemed to be a hole in his tea-cup. He called me to him 
and said : “Do you see that hole ” 1 said : “Yes Sir.” 
“ But there is no hole there,” he replied. “ So you see, 
Ellen, you must be careful how you take an oath as to 
what you see, for, may be, what you see is not there.” 
The severest reproof Father ever gave me was on one 
occasion when I was “ holding the candle ” while he was 
tinkering at a refractory door lock. I had in my hand a 
scrap of paper on which was the poem “ ’Twas the night 
before Christmas,” and I was so interested in my 
reading that I did not observe that my candle was of 
no use. He took the scrap out of my hand with vigor 
and advised me to attend to business. 

Father and Mother were very fond of nature ; they 
loved animals, they loved their garden, its fruits and 
flowers, the birds — the martins for which we had beautiful 


72 


houses made by Father’s own hands — the humming birds 
that loved the honey -suckles and columbines, the yellow 
birds for which Mother planted sun-flowers, and the 
sparrows that came to the kitchen door for their daily 
crumbs. The children were allowed all sorts of pets, even 
opossums, lambs and foxes. 

From our first home we had a lovely western view of 
hills and woods and sunsets. In moving across the street 
we lost it, greatly to our sorrow. Once I remember 
Father, Mother and myself were watching a sunset 
from the back porch. There came a wonderful scene 
in the sky, such a one as Wordsworth describes in the 
second book of the “ Excursion.” Father was so delighted 
with the landscape in blue and gold and fleecy cloud, 
painted on the sky, that he said : “I must go out 
and bring somebody else to see it.” He went to the street, 
looked up and down hoping to see Dr. King, or some 
other congenial friend, but he returned saying : “ I saw no 
body but Tommy Good and I do not think he could 
see it.” When, years after, my husband took me to 
the home of our fathers, and, standing on the hill where 
they were born, I looked out upon the lovely Kennebec 
valley, I realized how that river and valley and the hills on 
every side had remained in Father’s memory as an 


73 


exquisitely grand and beautiful picture. Father visited his 
home three times, twice in connection with his appoint- 
ment as visitor to West Point. The last time he was 
accompanied by Alex., and by Lucy and Mr. Charlton on 
their wedding tour. In those days (1849) of staging and 
canal-boats a journey to Maine was a great undertaking. 

Father seldom went from home ; but once a year he 
went to Supreme Court at Pittsburg. It was a six -hours’ 
journey in a “ stage,” over roads that made a rheumatic 
man groan to think of, and yet the distance was only 
twenty-four miles. The coming home was a very joyous 
time. Everything in house and garden was put in finest 
order because “ Father is coming home.” Sometimes in 
our childish impatience we would go out to the road to 
meet the “ stage,” forgetting that Father would get home 
long before we could trudge back. Then would come the 
opening of the little trunk and the distributing of the 
annual presents to us all. “ The Boy’s Own Book ” or a 
“ Robinson Crusoe ” for Alex.,” “ The Girl’s Own Book ” 
and some new music for Lucy, “ Jane Taylor’s Original 
Poems ” and a silver thimble for Ellen — the famous little 
sewer of the family, or something for us all, a checker- 
board, a globe, a new set of Britannia ware for Mother, 
and once, the first picture we ever had — “ The Little Bird 


74 


Catcher.” It hangs in sister Belle’s parlor to-day. The 
family stores were bought at the same time. A big four- 
horse, Conestoga wagon would drive to the door and deposit 
a box of wax candles for company occasions, a supply of 
codfish — we were the only family in town that ate codfish, 
one of our Yankee notions — a bag of unbrowned coffee 
berries, a barrel of brown sugar, a quantity of white 
sugar in conical loaves, wrapped in purple paper, the smell 
of which is in my mind to this day, a barrel of water 
crackers, a box of raisins for mince pies, and, what 
brought more delight than all else to the children, a great 
package of candy. Oh ! how glad Father was to get 
home. 1 can see him now in memory as he put on his 
study gown and slippers and sat down in his arm-chair, 
with the baby in his arms, the rest of the admiring group 
standing around him, and hear him say : “ Well ! Mother, 
it is good to get home.” 

Father was fond of giving us daughters pleasant sur- 
prises. When Lucy and I were little girls a new hymn- 
book was introduced into the church. He bought a 
quantity of common, leather-bound copies for use at family 
worship ; but for his little daughters he bought beautiful 
morocco-bound ones, adorned and edged with gold. They 
were a source of great delight to us, and we felt very much 


75 


like ladies in having such fine books to sing out of at 
church. 

Father lived to see only one daughter married. One 
day he said to Mother that probably he would not live to 
see his daughters married, but that he wanted to give each 
of them a set of silver spoons. He went to the bank, 
bought the silver, and his friend, Mr. Dougan, made five 
sets of spoons, and marked them with our initials. This 
was long before the days of plated ware, when a set of 
silver spoons cost just twice as much as the silver was 
worth as coin. 

I do not remember that Father ever said anything to 
me personally in regard to secret prayer, but 1 shall never 
forget my feelings of awe and reverence as 1 once opened 
a door and found Father on his knees, engaged in secret 
prayer. 

There are some recollections of our early days connected 
with our Mother’s family that are very precious. Father 
was so far removed from his own family that their per- 
sonal influence upon us as children was small; and yet 
there was a traditional influence through Father that was 
very strong. His constant correspondence with his family, 
as long as he lived, served to make us acquainted with 
them in some degree. But with Mother’s family it was 


76 


different, as she always lived among her own people. 
When grandfather Murdoch lost his property, and was 
compelled to sell his most valuable residence and leave 
town, he purchased a farm from a family whose failing 
fortunes had compelled them to sell their beautiful estate, 
Morganza, so proudly called after their own name. The. 
mansion house was a queer, old building, with two great 
rooms down stairs — a parlor and dining-room. The 
kitchen and other rooms necessary for the negro servants 
were separated from the house, after the old style of 
house-building in the days of slavery in Pennsylvania. 
When grandfather took possession the negro quarters were 
taken away, and the house was changed and adapted to 
free labor. Grandfather died so early in our family his- 
tory that he is only dimly remembered by the three eldest 
children. To us grandmother was always the head of the 
family. The farm remained in the family about twenty 
years, and was the scene of many changes in the family 
history. Uncle John never lived on the farm, as very 
early in life he went to Parkersburg, Virginia, having 
married Miss Virginia Neal, of that place. Her memory 
is preserved in the family by the name Virginia. The 
other sons, Alexander and James, and our aunts, Sarah, 
Elizabeth and Esther Ann, comprised the family for many 


77 


years. It was a lovely farm of over four hundred acres, 
with hills and meadows, sugar camp and orchard, springs 
and running brooks. The Chartiers creek wound through 
it, in some places deep enough for fishing, and in others 
so shallow that we could cross it on stepping-stones. 
Here Alex, and Lucy and Ellen and Jimmie and Mary 
played till they knew the old farm “by heart.” Every 
season brought its own pleasure. Harvesting, sugar- 
making, cider-making, butchering, all done in the old way, 
the tenants and neighbors helping, was very interesting to 
us. The cooking was a marvel ; all done by the great 
open wood-fire, with andirons, back-log and fore-stick, 
cranes and pots, Dutch ovens and reflectors, tongs and 
poking-sticks. If we had not had a “ Centennial,” and 
with it a craze for antiquated furniture, my nephews and 
nieces would have no idea of the articles above enumer- 
ated. The perfect delight of that old farm, and the 
memory of all the dear people that lived there, brings 
tears to my eyes as 1 write. Grandmother and aunts and 
uncles were very kind to us, and made us very happy 
and contented. Stately Gran’ma, brilliant aunt Sarah, 
gentle aunt Libbie, patient aunt Annie, witty, genial uncle 
Alex., dashing uncle Jimmie, then later, sweet aunt 
Rebecca, uncle Alex.’s wife, and uncle Wilson, pleasant, 


interesting, affectionate, with his great dome of a head full 

of ideas you are all part of our very being, the part 

of which the memory never fails. 

Morganza was nine miles from Washington, on the 
road to Pittsburg. I do not rememe r when the turn-pike 
was built and the stage-line put on the road, but it must 
have been about the time Morganza came into grand- 
father’s possession. But for years most of the family 
traveling and all the church going were done on horseback. 
Grandmother and all her daughters were riders. A fine 
side-saddle was part of each daughter’s marriage “ dowry.” 
During grandfather’s last illness, it was our Mother’s 
custom on Saturday to ride out to Morganza with Jimmie, 
her baby, on her lap, and her toilet basket hanging on the 
horn of her saddle, make her visit, and then on Sabbath go 
to church, taking her baby, of course, and return home 
Sabbath evening accompanied by her uncle. Dr. Samuel 
Murdoch, who always worshipped at the Chartiers 
church previous to the erection of a Seceeder church in 
Washington. Our aunts often carried us on their laps 
when riding ; when we grew older we rode behind them, 
holding on to the waist of the rider. In the course of 
time there was a fine, large, family carriage that added 
greatly to our comfort and enjoyment. 


79 


Aunt Sarah was exceedingly fond of Jimmie — ^she 
always called him Deacon — and would have kept him at 
the farm all the time had not Jimmie been so very fond 
of his Mother. He was a very wise little fellow ; but for 
a long time could not talk plainly, so that Jimmie’s say- 
ings gave us perpetual amusement. One day as he espied 
aunt Sarah riding down street, he rushed into the house, 
saying : “ Mulla ! Mulla ! hay ’oo can’t pale me ! ” which 

being interpreted, is “ Mother ! Mother ! say you can’t 
spare me.” 

Mother loved her family devotedly. All her brothers 
except uncle John, and all her sisters were at different 
times members of our household, for the purposes of 
education. Father was a son and brother of the family ; 
he loved them all and they loved him. In their troubles 
financial or otherwise, they found in Father and Mother 
unfailing friends. Uncle Alex. Murdoch studied law with 
Father and became his partner. He was a member of our 
household while studying and until his second marriage ; 
and until the firm was dissolved by Father’s death he had 
a son’s place in the intimate freedom of the house. We 
all loved him for his kind, genial ways, and his ready wit 
added pleasure to our household life. 

All our aunts and uncles had large families, except 


8o 


James, and Esther Ann, who never married. Their 
children are scattered far and near, through many states. 

During the war Alex. Musser, Alex. Wilson and brother 
John, who were all the same age, enlisted. Alex. Wilson 
died in a hospital at Gettysburg; Alex. Musser was 
wounded, and for a long time was in a hospital in Wash- 
ington City. Brother John served till the close of the 
war. 

1 have tried to reproduce our life in a few of its phases. 
It was a simple, primitive, natural life. We children were 
full of failings in temper and spirit; but if we have 
attained anything worth living for we owe unspeakable 
thanks to God for our parentage. When I think of our 
Mother’s courage, fortitude and patience under all the cir- 
cumstances of her life, 1 am filled with wonder and love. 
The work of house-keeping in Western Pennsylvania, 
under the old ways of house-building and heating, was 
simply dreadful. No daughter or daughter-in-law has 
ever borne such heavy burdens of domestic work in the 
care of her family and house as she. None of them ever 
lived in such inconvenient houses, or provided for so many 
children and guests and dependent friends. 

Oh, dear Mother ! I am glad you have lived to read 
these words from my pen. And if I have in any way — 


8i 


as I often have — added to your burdens or care by any 
infirmity of temper or thoughtlessness of mind, I hope 
you never will think of it again without remembering 
that I regret it a thousand times more than you could. 

Glens Falls, N. Y., 1888 . 


••••< 


»•••• 


82 


BY JAMES M. GOW. 


His life was gentle ; and the elements 
So mixed in him that Nature might stand up, 
And say to all the world, ‘This was a man.’ ” 


Whether I have any earlier recollections of Father and 
Mother than when I was four years old I am not sure. 
We then lived in what we afterwards called the Oliver 
house. It was during the Harrison campaign. Father 
took a very lively interest in that struggle, as indeed he 
did in every national and state contest, until age and 
the coming on of younger men rendered his labors too 
fatiguing or unnecessary. There was a grand political 
meeting in Washington County during that campaign. 
There was a “barbecue” — two oxen roasted whole — in 
“ Major’s Woods.” I remember Father, Mr. McKennan 
and others spoke upon the occasion. In every campaign 
from that time until about the year 1860 he was in 
constant requisition as a public speaker. Perhaps no one 
in our county did more work upon the stump than he. 
But I have no recollection that he ever took any part 
in political conventions as a delegate or otherwise. He 


83 


was only a political speaker. He was an ardent Whig'. 
Once, when a teamster delivered a load of coal, 
while we lived in the Oliver house, Father went 
out to pay him, having in his hand a bank note. 
Some question arose as to whether it was worth its face ; 
Father took occasion to remark to David Qark — I think 
it was — that we never would have a good paper currency 
until we had a National Bank. This remark was accom- 
panied by some uncomplimentary remarks concerning 
General Jackson, for whom as a statesman he had, judging 
from this remark, a very low opinion. His political idol 
was, 1 think, Daniel Webster ; but he was an enthusiastic 
supporter of Henry Clay in his American Policy, in 
which heresy he was an ardent believer. Not only was he 
a constant political speaker, but during the whole of his 
life, within my recollection, he was a constant contributor 
to the local papers upon political subjects. These contri- 
butions were usually of a serious and argumentative 
nature, but he employed satire and ridicule also, of which 
he was a master. His “ Teddy O’Neil ” papers, appear- 
ing at intervals for years in the “ Reporter,” judging from 
the attention they excited and from the fact that they 
were read in Washington City and enjoyed by 
Members of Congress, must have had much merit. 


84 


Father’s only political ambition, as far as ever I 
heard, was to be elected to Congress. I am sure that 
beyond his mastery of political questions and his ability as 
a speaker, he had not the very first qualification for a 
successful politician. And it affords me much gratification 
to know it. Not only was he a very constant writer 
on political questions, but his love of using his pen led 
him to write upon many topics of public interest. He 
seemed to be imbued with the belief that the Roman 
Catholic Church is hostile to American institutions and 
dangerous to the Republic. This belief manifested itself 
in many discussions with the few Catholics in our com- 
munity, and in many contributions to our local papers 
upon various phases of that subject. Outside of educa- 
tional subjects 1 do not remember that Father was a 
prominent man in town affairs. Probably he thought 
that there were plenty of others who had the taste and 
talent and the desire to manage municipal and county 
affairs, and that a man who had to look after a family 
of fourteen had his hands full. 

Father’s interest in education was intelligent and 
unflagging. I have met many men of middle age who 
were his pupils in the English department of the college, 
and it was a frequent remark with them that his was 


85 


the big end of the college, having much the largest number 
of students, and that he was emphatically the best teacher. 
From my earliest recollections he took an interest in the 
common schools, and probably no single person in our 
town did more to promote their advancement than he. 
But as far as 1 was concerned 1 have no reason to think he 
knew what I was doing in school or college. He rarely 
spoke on the subject. Once, while 1 was attending Bill 
Sharp’s school, and was as perfectly worthless as a boy 
could be — but without the slightest sign of disapprobation 
on the part of Sharp — Father undertook to examine me in 
English grammar. He found me perfectly ignorant and 
seemed to be annoyed. Of course I laid the blame on 
Sharp, and that was the end of it. After that I have 
no recollection of his ever asking me a word about 
my school or my progress. I always thought it was 
strange, for I knew all the time that he was, in fact, 
interested in my advancement. Possibly he knew more 
than I suspected. Besides, from the time I came under 
Alex, until I left college, I never failed to stand somewhere 
near the top, which doubtless he knew. 

Father, as it seemed to me, always overrated the ad- 
vantages of a collegiate education. Very frequently 
he remarked to me, or in my hearing, that he had 


suffered from this want, and occasionally compared 
his own career with that of others who, with such advant- 
ages, had amounted to but little in their public or private 
life. For several years during my college course he read 
Latin with me in the evening ; and in this way 1 read and 
re-read many of the Latin authors, greatly to my benefit, 
although on Father’s part it was done for his own advant- 
age and pleasure, for he fancied that I read Latin better than 
he, in which fancy he was much mistaken. Very few 
graduates could compare with him as a Latin scholar. I 
wish he had read Shakespeare and the English classics with 
me in the same way. Father had a strong liking for 
uneducated persons who were socially beneath himself, 
but who possessed some decided traits of character that 
distinguished them from commonplace people, whether 
educated or not. I can not recollect what attached him to 
“ Old Potter,” unless it was the simple piety of the 
old man, but probably no one was ever buried in Wash- 
ington over whose grave was pronounced a more eloquent, 
or more heartfelt, discourse than Father’s over the poor old 
carter’s grave. The “ Quails,” I think, stirred up the 
latent, Scotch clannishness in him, and I know he enjoyed 
their Scotch dialect, as he did that of many other Scotch- 
men in the county. David Lang was not only Scotch, 


87 


but he had been a seaman, and no doubt you remember 
how Father’s love for the sea and for ships often cropped 
out. Do you remember with what delight he would 
listen to Bobby Bell, the old Scotch weaver, as he repeated 
Burn’s poetry, while strolling through the town ? Then 
there were Dougherty and Hughey Logan and Isaac Waltz, 
the old stuttering negro fence-maker, who had been 
General Neville’s slave at the time of the “ Whiskey 
Rebellion.” Old Arnold and many others, with the 
exception of Bobby Bell, in the same humble rank of 
life, and Father were firm friends and mutual admirers. 
Father’s fine mechanical skill led him to make the 
acquaintance of the mechanics of the town who showed 
superior ability in their trades, and very frequently he 
was consulted by them upon difficult matters with which 
they were called to deal, especially in applied mathematics. 
1 think Father appeared to most persons as cold, unsympa- 
thetic and unsociable. I don’t think it was possible for 
him to be sociable with a commonplace man, whatever 
might be his wealth, or his social position, or his education. 
It was only persons who had some strongly marked 
characteristics that could engage his interest. During my 
boyhood Father was a very busy man, as he had need to 
be with so large a family, and had but little time to come 


in contact with his children except at the table ; and my. 
pleasantest recollections are connected with him at that 
time, and in the evenings when he was freed from business. 
At these times his conversations were always delight- 
ful and profitable, and were most frequently on 
literary topics. I think he was never very well satisfied 
that I did not take to Shakespeare; but until I became 
a man 1 could not read Shakespeare, and 1 never wished to 
impose upon him or myself. Father’s best traits came 
out in his home life, when, relieved from the pressure 
of business, he came into the sitting-room or parlor 
in his slippers and study gown, and devoted himself 
to music, or conversation, or reading. I shall never 
forget a long evening spent with his family in discussing 
‘‘ Hiawatha,” just after it appeared. He had little 
admiration for it. His remarks took a wide range, and 
going to the bookcase, he took down Aik ins’ “ English 
Poets ” and read from it. Among those which he read 
was Byron’s “Vision of Judgment,” which then I had 
never heard of. On another occasion, in discussing 
the subject of eloquence, he read Meg iVlerilie’s denuncia- 
tion of the Laird of Ellangowan in a way that brought out 
more than I had ever seen in it before. And so I can 
recall occasion after occasion when we received the 


89 


most valuable lectures, illustrafed in the most charming 
way, and which do not remind me a bit of my college 
training. 

I have frequently heard it said since leaving home that 
he was a very effective public speaker. 1 have no distinct 
personal recollection of him as a speaker. I have heard, 
and think it was so, that no man in our county, which 
had so many college professors, and so many persons 
of liberal education in it, was called upon to make 
addresses upon literary and educational and other subjects 
as he. In reference to his labors of this kind he once said 
to me laughingly, that he passed for the most highly 
educated man in the county. I have little doubt that he 
was one of the most highly educated men of his com- 
munity, but he was far from thinking so. 

Father was habitually one of the best-dressed men in 
the community, but was never overdressed. Except his 
modest gold chain, he never wore anything that would 
attract attention. He was severely plain. I never knew 
him to wear any garments but in plain colors. I have 
known him to go without his boots blacked, but it was 
only when one of his boys neglected part of his morning 
duty. In spite of a limp, occasioned by a broken leg in 
his boyhood, he was a graceful man, and had many 


90 


motions that were natural to him, that 1 can see now, but 
which, of course, are wholly indescribable. Do you 
remember Mr. Blaine saying to aunt Lucy Lincoln that 
Father could enter a room filled with company more 
gracefully than any other person he had ever seen? 
Father was delicate in all his tastes ; almost fastidious' in 
some of them. His love for perfumes was noticeable. 
Attar of Roses was his favorite. He was also very fond 
of the odor of celery. I think every drawer he had, even 
in the office, was redolent of some perfume. But he did 
not like the odor of the stable, as I knew to my sorrow. 
1 have no recollection of Father ever being unjustly severe 
with me but once, and then he labored under a misappre- 
hension. I can remember a good many times when he 
might have been severe without being unjust. I never 
saw Father lose his temper but once. He was starting a 
nail and struck his finger. There was a limestone lying 
near him, six inches thick, perhaps; as quick as a flash he 
struck it, shattering it to pieces, and then walked into the 
/ house to care for his finger. 1 have seen him provoked, 
disgusted or indignant, but I never saw him lose com- 
mand of himself, unless it was at that time. 

I knew nothing about Father’s religious experiences. 
He never volunteered a word to me on the subject, nor 


91 


did he ever allude fo the religious experience of myself. 
He once remarked to me, almost as briefly as 1 write it 
here, that if 1 was led to study for the ministry he would 
be satisfied. But while, as far as I was concerned, he was 
so very reticent, his example was almost perfect, and very 
possibly, words could have added nothing to the usefulness 
of it. I always had a profound respect for Father, and a 
great admiration for him. In short. Father had a most 
wonderful, quiet influence upon me, an influence that 
could not have been weightier for good had he been 
given to “ good counsel,” but might have been less 
weighty. 

My first recollection of Mother was contemporaneous 
with my first recollection of Father, namely in the 
Harrison campaign. There was to be a great mass 
meeting in the town, and there were to be open houses, on 
the part of the Whigs, to feed the great multitude. Our 
back porch had a table built upon it the whole length, and 
dinner was served to all comers. In anticipation. Mother 
took me into her service and confidence, and I went with 
her to buy the necessary articles for the occasion. Among 
them 1 remember those big white-handled knives with 
which we became so familiar. Mother always entered into 
Father’s political plans and sympathized with him in 


92 


his political views. She not only read the political 
news but the general news of the day, and was 
always prepared to discuss current events intelli- 
gently, and with the sound practical sense that was a 
remarkable feature of her character. Mother is to be 
judged more by what she might have been, than by what 
she was in her intellectual life. In her childhood the only 
schools for girls in western Pennsylvania were of the most 
elementary character. When she had outgrown these she 
was sent to Pittsburg to school, but, suffering from home- 
sickness, grandmother most unwisely yielded to her 
persuasion and she returned home. It was grandfather’s 
desire to send her to the Moravian Seminary at Bethlehem, 
Pennsylvania. She was thus almost entirely self-educated. 
Fortunately she had daily the educating influence of 
intercourse with Father, and she had inherited from 
her ancestors on both sides a strong literary taste, so that 
even the enormous cares of her busy life could not 
suppress her love of books, or destroy her habit of reading. 
These habits grew with her growth and strengthened with 
her years, and not only served to prevent her sinking into 
a life of drudgery, but served as an inspiration to her 
children, and now afford us some of the pleasantest 
recollections of home life. 


93 


Romance, history and the newspapers were, as I recollect, 
her chief reading, and of these history was her favorite. 
In history, that of England was of chief interest to 
her, although American and French history claimed her 
attention also. Ours was preeminently a reading family ; 
and the encouragement and inspiration to read came 
as much from Mother as from Father, though for obvious 
reasons Father was more highly cultured in this respect 
than Mother. Had their advantages and early environ- 
ments been the same, 1 doubt if there would have been 
much difference between them. 

Mother was a very courageous woman both physically 
and morally, and, while I cannot speak assuredly, 1 think 
she surpassed her brothers and sisters in these respects. I 
have an impression that she inherited these qualties and 
her literary bent from her father. 1 never knew Mother 
to yield to a popular prejudice, or superstition, or suffer 
her children to do so. No amount of pressure ever 
succeeded in coercing her into any social ways, or church 
ways, or methods of living, that failed to commend them- 
selves to her own judgment. Of course this independence 
not infrequently placed her children in positions that were 
somewhat embarrassing, but, supported by her strong will 
and strong sense, such embarrassments were speedily over- 


94 


come, and their educational influence was incalculable. 
What a magnificent army nurse Mother would have 
made! Her splendid business qualities and moral and 
physical courage would have made her a Mother Bicker- 
dyke. 

Mother’s friendships were much like Father’s. While our 
family had a distinct, church and social position. Mother, no 
more than Father, found her best friends either in her 
church — at least, not merely because they were in her 
church — or in her social circle. Like Father she was 
attracted more by character than by the accidents of 
birth, culture, education, church connection or anything 
else ; and, as a consequence, her best friends came from 
all grades of society. I am sure there was no understand- 
ing between Father and Mother in this, but it grew out of 
peculiarities that were innate to both. 1 think Mother 
cared less for dress than Father, but her sense of form and 
color was good, and her notions of propriety in dress 
were correct. Her tastes were plain and simple. 

Mother’s life was a laborious one. Within my recol- 
lection, as a boy at home. Father was wholly devoted to 
his professional work, and Mother received little, if any, 
assistance from him in household matters. He may, in 
the years before I can recollect, have gone to market. 


95 


made garden, milked the cow, and taken part in house 
affairs, but in my time he was wholly relieved of all such 
cares. Mother, with the aid of the older children, for the 
most part had the exclusive and entire burden of 
the whole household. It is true that at intervals she had 
the assistance of a servant, but I can now only recall the 
names of three persons who served in that capacity. 
In looking back I cannot understand how she could 
possibly find the time to do the immense work which 
she did so well, and still less how she found time for 
the demands of society and self improvement. 

Mother had executive ability of a very high order, 
otherwise she never could have fed and clothed, governed 
and controlled her large family with such success, for 
it must be remembered that she was absolutely head 
of the house. I never thought of asking Father’s per- 
mission to go skating, fishing or riding. I never asked 
him to purchase me a school book without first speak- 
ing to Mother. He never purchased me a piece 
of clothing or any necessary article. Then, too, 
this large machine had to be run with a constant 
reference to economy, for Father did not live in the days 
of large fees, or in times like the present, when a client 
needs to employ a second lawyer to keep the first one 


96 


from robbing him. But Mother had the satisfaction, 
in carrying this heavy load, of feeling that the purse was 
in common, and Father had a perfect appreciation of 
her splendid ability. As he said to me : “1 would break 
up every year if it were not for Mother.” I am sure 
he was right. Had Mother been extravagant, or too 
much given to show in the use of money, I think Father 
would have erred in the same direction. Mother guided 
him in the spending of money. In my young days 
children and youth had but little pocket money. In qur 
house Mother was the sole almoner. 1 have no recol- 
lection of ever receiving money from Father. Mother 
was very discreet, as I now know very well, in this matter. 
I have a recollection of very few times indeed, when, 
as I now think, she might have been more liberal, 
while I have a clear recollection of many times when, 
had she gratified me, I would certainly have misused 
the money. Many times I have been saved by the want 
of money from certain extravagances that I would have 
committed, against my own sense of propriety, but out of 
fear of the ridicule of “ the boys,” had 1 had money 
to spend freely. I have no recollection of ever being 
denied money, or any other indulgence, where it was 
necessary to maintain a respectable social position among 


97 


my companions'. With our hrge: family and compara- 
tively straitened circumstances, this alone showed a great 
discretion on Mother’s part. 

Mother’s energy can be compared only to a steam 
engine. It was very quiet but apparently tireless. Her 
physical powers were magnificent, but her mental powers 
as displayed in her ability to keep a household of so many 
members, with so many different interests, clothed, fed, 
washed, combed, dressed in the morning, schooled, put to 
bed at night, their social relations guarded and provided 
for, while for twenty-four years she had constantly a 
baby in her arms, inspire me with an admiration for her 
executive ability that 1 cannot express. No one without a 
genius for order, and a mind capable of grasping a multi- 
tude of little details, could have got through her week’s 
work with so little confusion and with so little apparent 
effort. In my case, at least, Mother displayed more 
anxiety in regard to my progress at school than Father did. 
In our family was demonstrated one important principle in 
the moral and religious training of children, namely : 
that direct personal appeal is not the surest or best way by 
which to reach the conscience, or influence the conduct, 
of children ; and my experience as a teacher confirmed 
this opinion. Father and Mother were alike in being 


98 


apparently indiflFerent to our moral and spiritual welfare if 
their interest were measured by direct and formal instruc- 
tion and appeals. I have no recollection of Father or 
Mother ever having a formal conversation of that kind 
with me. Nor do I regret it. We were all of us too 
smart to miss the significance of daily worship, attendance 
on church service, a decent but not too strict observ- 
ance of the Sabbath, and a constant' example before 
us of a very consistent “ Walk and Conversation.” It 
is a matter that I enjoy remembering that there was 
no affectation, no pretense, no nonsense in their religious 
opinions or life. Their sense of humor was too keen 
in detecting and enjoying such foibles in others to permit 
them to fall into such ways themselves. The combination 
of vigilance and delicacy with which Mother watched over 
her boys, their outgoings and incomings, was very 
admirable. It was perfectly apparent that she intended to 
know where we had been when we came home at night, 
what we had been doing, and with whom we associated— 
and not only at night but at all times. But I have no 
recollection of her ever doing it in such a way as to assault 
my self-respect or annoy me. 

Father and Mother, as I now see them, appear to my mind 
as remarkably different from each other in most respects. 


99 


while in a very few they were remarkably alike. They 
were the complements of each other. I am sure they 
instinctively felt this. Father stands out more distinctly to 
mind than Mother; his personal habits and peculiarities 
were more striking. But I lived much nearer to Mother 
than to Father, 1 never had a shade of fear of Father, nor 
was he in the slightest degree inapproachable, but he 
was never to any extent a confidant. It was different 
with Mother. I think there was not much that I thought, 
or did, as a boy that she did not know of, at least, pretty 
well. Of course, at times 1 look back and wish that in this 
or that respect my school or home education had been 
different, and fancy that it might have been better, but 
when all the circumstances are taken into consideration, 
and 1 reflect upon Father’s and Mother’s start in 
life, their large family involving so much care, expense 
and work, 1 feel that there is due from me nothing 
but admiration and gratitude to both of them. And 
1 shall have reason to be very happy if we succeed 
with our two children as well as Father and Mother 
did with their dozen. 

Greenfield, Iowa, 1888. 


100 


BY MARY MURDOCH GOW. 


“Accept this record of a life 
As sweet and pure, as calm and good, 

As a long day of blandest June 
In green field and in wood.” 

“Art builds on sand ; the works of pride 
And human passion change and fall; 

But that which shares the life of God 
With him surviveth all.” 

The task of writing recollections of our parents does not 
seem at first thought to be a very formidable one, but the 
longer 1 think of it the harder it seems. A hundred 
thoughts and incidents come thronging to my remem- 
brance, but where to begin and how to arrange them so as 
to make the narrative interesting to others is the task to be 
performed. We have an old neighbor, a character worthy 
of the pen of Dickens, who has always been ambitious 
to shine in the literary world. For years he has been 
engaged in writing a “ History of America from the 
Foundation of the World.” Now from the foundation of 
the world up to the year 1492 would not be a difficult 
task, but to write a sketch and do full justice to our 


101 


sainted Father, and to our gentle Mother who is still with 
us, is not an easy task for one who is not experienced 
in biographical writing. 

There never was a family of children more highly 
blessed than we in our parents, patterns as they were 
of everything that is good and lovely ; Father, a dignified 
gentleman, a devoted Christian, possessed of rare literary 
ability and culture, musical, affectionate and social in 
his disposition, loved and respected by all who knew 
him, kind to the poor and a helper to the widow and 
orphan ; and Mother, one with him in all benevolent 
projects, continually devising some good thing for some- 
body. 

Father did a great deal of work professionally without 
remuneration, such as settling up estates for poor widows 
and orphan children, or giving legal advice to the 
ignorant who needed it. One instance comes to my mind. 
A simple-minded, ignorant neighbor who had a wretched 
husband, was advised by Father to buy a property 
that was in the market. She was a milliner and was 
able to make payments in place of rent. Such a thought 
as; buying property had never dawned on her mind. 
She laughed at the idea and thought she might as 
well try to buy the town. But he encouraged her 


102 


and it was successfully accomplished. She never could 
forget Father’s kindness to her. During one of his 
very sick times she came in to see him. She could 
not talk to him, and he was too sick to talk to her, 
so she sat by his bedside a long time, the tears falling 
over her face — the only way she could express her love. 

No one who entered our home, from the little children 
who came to play with the younger ones of the family, to 
the young lady and gentleman callers, or the more elderly 
people, escaped the kindly notice of our Father. I remem- 
ber my feelings of pride when our parents would come 
into the parlor and add to the entertainment of our stu- 
dent callers. With such training and example we all 
naturally felt a responsibility in doing the honors of the 
house to all ages, and to each other’s company. The 
same kindness was exhibited to domestics and all hired 
help. Mother’s kindness to all children was marked. At 
one time she was the manager of an Industrial School, 
established at the time our railroads were in building, for 
the purpose of teaching the Irish girls to sew. Mrs. David 
Wilson and Mrs. Wm. Mathews were among her valuable 
coadjutors. The society originated with Mrs. Wilson, 
who immediately selected Mother for the manager. It 
was a very successful enterprise every way. Mother was 


103 


fond of such work. A little incident, illustrative of 
Mother’s treatment of children, occurred one day when the 
ladies of the congregation were preparing for a festival in 
the basement of the church. Some little girls came in, 
bringing their donations. We all know how backward and 
shy children feel on going to such a place. The lady who 
received their baskets emptied them and returned them, 
saying : “ Now go, children, run home.” Mother saw 
the abashed look on the children’s faces, so she said : 
“ Wait, children ” ; then went and got them some cookies, 
and gave them to them with some kind words of assur- 
ance. 

Father’s love for music made one of the most de- 
lightful features of our home life. Whatever musical 
ability there was in the family was encouraged and 
cultivated. We all remember how at twilight he would 
take the baby on his lap and sing “ Gaffer Grey ” and 
“ Come under my Pladdie.” It was his habit on Sabbath 
afternoons to take down his violin and gather the children 
to sing hymns and anthems ; on week days we sang 
the secular songs. There never was to me such music ; 
I have never heard sweeter since. The remembrance 
of it even after so many years brings tears to my eyes. 
There were no remarkable singers among us, but our 


104 


voices blended very sweetly and it was a great enjoyment 
to Father. One Sabbath afternoon when he was 
confined to his bed, and not able to sing himself, he 
asked us to sing to him. While we were singing an 
old musical friend came in. We were not accustomed to 
Sabbath callers, but he was welcomed. As he entered the 
room the singing ceased and Father roused up as from 
sleep and said to the gentleman : “ I thought I was in 
heaven.” Can we ever forget our Sabbath morning 
“ Welcome sweet day of rest,” sung to the one sweet 
tune that belonged to it, each one taking his part and 
carrying it on ? Then in the evening, “ The day is 
past and gone,” to its quaint old tune We can never 
forget these sacred tunes. At our family reunion, held 
some years after Father’s death, one Sabbath evening 
at worship the old hymn, “ The day is past and gone,” 
was suggested and the “tune raised.” It was almost 
too much for us. Our oldest brother rose and left 
the room, overcome with emotion, leaving the rest of 
us to finish with very teary voices. Father’s health 
began to break visibly the year before the war. From 
that year, until the old home was entirely broken up, 
I was the one that was always at home. The rest of 
the family came and went, but I remained to take care of 


105 


Father and Mother and the old home. It was a privilege 
and honor to minister to the comfort of such parents. 
Then the war came ; those years of thoughtful, prayerful, 
earnest living. They were anxious years to us. Brother 
John whom we all loved, was in the army, and for him 
we all had our daily fears. At home we had the pain 
of seeing Father fade away from us. We had the 
constant, though unspoken, fears that, as the different 
members of the family went away from home to teach or 
to school, before they would get back, or before John 
could come home from the army. Father would be taken 
away. But God has always been good to us as a family. 
When the end came we were all at home except those who 
were married and far away. But I would not convey the 
idea that those years were all sad. No, indeed ! Father’s 
room, when he was confined there, was the centre of 
attraction to all of us ; and we had our gay times as well 
as our sorrowful ones. When we came home from any 
place, we hastened to Father’s room to tell all the news, 
for we knew that he would be interested in everything 
that interested us. His loveliness of disposition showed 
itself more and more as he declined. His sufferings 
at times were very intense, but his loveliness and patience 
never left him. He often spoke of death, and the 

io6 


resurrection was a theme on which he was very fond 
of talking. On his tombstone is the inscription, selected be- 
fore he died : “lam the resurrection and the life ; he that 
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live,” 
attesting his belief in that blessed doctrine. Once he said 
to Mother, knowing the end could not be far off : “ Mother, 
don’t let the house be sad and gloomy when 1 am gone ; 
make it cheerful and happy on account of the boys.” 
John and Loudon were still at home. There was no 
one in our house to witness Mother’s untiring devotion to 
the care of Father but ourselves. No stranger ever 
ministered to his wants for an hour during his years 
of sickness. When the end came he died in Mother’s 
arms. When he was gone the first words she said to 
us was : “ He has clapped his hands in heaven.” 

There never was an event in our country which was 
of more interest to Father than the war. He always 
detested slavery, and to the last prayer he uttered, he 
prayed for the down-trodden and oppressed of our 
country. He once remarked at one of his delightful table 
talks : “ Children, 1 shall not live to see the abolition 

of slavery in our country, but you will.” He did live 
to see the day and rejoiced. But a day of sorrow soon 
followed. 1 shall never forget, when our martyred 


107 


President was struck down by the cowardly assassin, how 
Father wept, as we all did. For we had learned to 
love Mr. Lincoln as a brother. When Father was too ill 
to read himself, some one of the family would read 
the papers to him. He would have us read the head- 
ings so that he would get what he wanted without tiring 
the reader. When the war tale of “ Little Benny ” came 
out, I read it aloud to Father, and he wept, the tears run- 
ning over his face. I never look at that story in my 
scrap-book, without seeing Father’s tearful face. Loudon 
was studying law with Father during his sickness ; he 
used to throw himself across the foot of the bed while 
Father would examine him in his studies, or discuss 
some matters of interest in the town or country. 

There was one beautiful thing we girls remember of 
Father — his bearing towards his daughters. He loved us 
with all the affection of a Father, but, at the same time, 
treated us with all the dignity and respect which he would 
show to any lady of his acquaintance. He was very 
happy to have so many daughters to minister to him dur- 
ing his declining years. There was no foolish favoritism 
in the family ; all were equally loved, sons and daughters. 
One thing personal to myself I must speak of. When I 
was two years old, I, with five others of the children, was 

io8 


smitten with scarlet fever. The rest recovered, but I was 
left hard of hearing. Of course, during my childhood 1 
did not know what a serious affliction it was. But as I 
grew older I became sensitive about my deafness. I can- 
not tell to anyone what I suffered from sensitiveness, and 
often mortification, on account of it. But Father and 
Mother were very wise in their treatment of me. They 
had me associate with children, go on the street and to 
school, to accustom me to strange sounds and voices. 
The care I must have been I can appreciate now. They 
left nothing undone to alleviate the trouble. The older 
brothers and sisters were thoughtful and anxious for me, 
as I learned when I became older. When I was about 
sixteen. Father heard of a fine aurist who had come to 
Pittsburg, and was doing wonderful things for the deaf 
and dumb. Father took me to him, and from my first 
treatment I improved. The doctor was at the “ Monon- 
gehela House.” We staid at the same house, to avoid 
exposure of my health. We staid for ten days. During 
the time Father took me to some place of interest every 
day. We walked the streets and, like country folks, 
we stopped and looked in at the shop windows. He took 
me to the theatre to see Home’s “ Douglas ” played ; then 
the next day we went to the book store and he bought me 


109 


the two volumes of the “ English Drama ” that have 
stood in the bookcase ever since, so that I might read 
the play. 

Before the war, when the “ Kansas troubles ” were 
startling the country, Mother founded a society of 
about twenty-five young ladies of rny age for the purpose 
of sending relief to the sufferers. 1 suppose that out 
of respect to Mother as the founder of the society, and 
much to my surprise, I was made president. That 
society did good work, and, when the war followed, 
the “ Kansas Society ” was merged into a “ Soldiers’ Aid 
Society.” The meetings were held from house to house 
as the ladies of the town would invite us. The students 
met with us to wait on us home. It was a very pleasant 
society, and was kept up for three years until the college 
was broken up by the enlisting of the students. Three of 
the young men who met with us regularly were killed 
soon after they went out. Our house was a place of 
great activity during the war. Mother was recognized as 
having a great deal of executive ability, and was made 
county treasurer of an organization formed for the 
purpose of collecting and sending stores to our soldiers in 
camp and hospital. Mother was always at the meeting, 
advising and directing. Mrs. Wm. McKennan was 


no 


president, but she always asked Mother to present any new 
plan to be brought before the society, for she recognized 
the fact that Mother possessed the gift, which she lacked, 
of bringing women of different social standing into 
harmony in the work. Our house was a hive of industry. 
We were all knitters, thanks to Mother, who was so 
famous in the art that she could knit and read at the same 
time. In that way she read Scott’s novels and much other 
reading. Among us we knit about fifty pairs of socks. 
A great deal of the work, dressing gowns, shirts, drawers, 
bandages and whatever else was needed, was prepared 
week by week by Mother, with our help, to be sewed at 
the society. No woman could have been better fitted 
for the position than she. She was uniformly kind and 
polite to every one. In those days one of the family had 
to be in constant readiness to wait on the door. Some 
days the knocker was going from morning till night. 
People from all parts of the county came bringing 
their stores. A strict account of money and stores had to 
be kept in writing for the society, and acknowledgments 
made weekly in the newspapers. Thousands of dollars 
worth went through her hands. Those who had husbands 
and fathers and sons and lovers and friends in the army, 
found sympathy and kindness from both Father and 


Mother. As the war went on, many came dressed 
in mourning; and many a sad tale was told to our 
sympathizing Mother of the “ fall in battle,” or the 
“sickness in the hospital,” or, most dreadful of all, 
the being “ taken prisoner ” of some loved one. 

Mother is still spared to us. -Her life has been a very active 
one in caring for others. Although she raised a family of 
ten children still there was always room in her thought 
and endeavor for more than her own. I never knew 
her to do a selfish thing. She adorned every relation of life 
as daughter, sister, wife, mother and friend, and was true 
to all. She is now a sufferer ; but her patience, unselfish- 
ness and cheerfulness are a lesson to us all. 

In our family we were ruled more by example than by 
precept. When questions would arise in regard to 
the propriety of doing something, after we had come 
to maturity, Father would say : “You know my wishes — 
do as you please.” It would have been hard to disregard 
the wishes of such a Father. 1 wish that every grandchild 
could have known Father and Mother personally, and 
could imitate them in their loveliness and goodness. 

Washington, Pennsylvania, 1888. 


II2 


BY JOHN LOUDON GOW. 


— “ In regfal quiet deep, 

Lo, one new-waked from sleep ! 

Behold, He standeth in the rock-hewn door I 
Thy children shall not die, — 

Peace, peace, thy Lord is by ! 

He liveth ! — they shall live forevermore. 

Peace ! lo. He lifts a priestly hand. 

And blesseth all the sons of men in every land.” 


In jotting down the following, without any particular 
arrangement or method, it is a mere chance that I have 
commenced on All -Saints’ Day ; and certainly there could 
be no more fitting time to address myself to such a pur- 
pose, and no subject more suitable for the day, than a talk 
about Father and Mother. To make my idea clearer, I 
would refer to the fact that, agreeably to the observances 
of the church, one day of the Christian year is set apart 
in special commemoration of the communion with the 
blessed departed in Paradise, as well as the communion 
with our Christian friends still on earth, each of whom is 
a part of the church militant and the church expectant, 
respectively. The day is also intended to emphasize that 


article of the Apostle’s Creed, which is recited in every 
service in the church, in which we say : “1 believe in the 
communion of saints.” The day is dear to the church 
because it teaches us, as Christians, to live nearer to our 
dead, and nearer to our living friends, to pray with them 
and for them, and to seek their prayers. And I am 
tempted to say further that it is a beautiful and edifying 
custom in the church, that upon this day is read, in con- 
nection with the usual communion service, the register of 
every soul that has entered the church by baptism and by 
confirmation, or who has departed in the faith and entered 
the gates of Paradise during the year. During this service 
this morning my thoughts were chiefly with my own — 
with Loudon as lately departed, with Father and the little 
ones of the family — all the dead and all the living. God 
grant that we may evermore live nearer to each other. 
The memories of our dead are blessed and should make 
us one. It is thus permitted that we may still share each 
other’s love. Father and Loudon were men who hungered 
and thirsted after righteousness, and the little ones who 
left us long ago were pure in heart and never knew sin. 

Only yesterday I heard an humble tribute to Father’s 
memory which is worthy of repetition. A poor, rough 
fellow was in my office and mentioned his knowledge 


of Father to me, as people often do, and always to 
say some good thing of him. His chief merit in this 
man’s eyes was that he was always so considerate of a 
poor man — “There was no one like him for that.” 
“ Why,” said he, “ many is the load of coal I have hauled 
to him from Ewing’s bank, and I never had to wait 
a minute for my pay. As soon as the last shovel-full was 
put in the coal house there was my money waiting for 
me, and he wouldn’t keep a poor man waiting for a 
cent.” I told him that was true ; that 1 well remembered 
his impressing upon me when I was a boy, that a laboring 
man ought never to be kept waiting for his money, 
but that he ought to have it as soon as the work was done, 
for his necessities might be very great. He used to 
say that he was brought up on that principle. Father 
had great consideration for poor people. 1 remember 
once when a beggar came into the office for some charity, 
and, after he had given him something, the question 
was suggested by some one whether he was a worthy 
subject for charity. In reply he said : “ It is better 

to give to a great many who are unworthy than to refuse 
one who may need help. It would be a serious thing 
to turn away a man if he was hungry, and it is better 
to err on the safe side.” Many of the people who 


remember Father and speak kindly of him are the 
very humble ones; and 1 am sure that it is not every 
one who has passed away who would be spoken kindly 
of after a quarter of a century. And 1 am certain he 
would prefer to be remembered by the humble ; for while 
by nature he was an aristocrat, no man had a truer 
Christian sympathy, or truer respect for the lowly. His 
friends and retainers came largely from that class. I 
do not remember the occasion, but 1 remember the 
impression made upon me when he quoted, from 
“ Brightest and best of the sons of the morning ” the lines, 
“ Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor ” ; and 
also, “ The poor of his morsel, a morsel will give.” 

He had a warm side for unfortunate and broken 
people, and his sympathies drew them to him. I remem- 
ber of Alex, telling me of an incident of a foreigner from 
Poland who had come to Washington. ' When there was 
some question raised, or criticism made, in regard to 
the man. Father replied : “My son, I hope you may 
never know what it is to be a stranger in a strange land.” 
It is probable that his own experience, when he was 
a young man and had left his home in Maine to make his 
way in the world, had taught him how to treat a home-sick 
foreigner. Within a month or two I have heard another 

ii6 


story about Father from a colored man who is a very 
ardent admirer of our family, and who thinks that 
the old families of Washington can never be replaced, and 
that their history will never repeat itself in any people yet 
to come. The incident was characteristic of Father, and 
was told in an amusing way which will be lost in my 
telling of it. The occasion was a show of some kind 
with feats of juggling, ventriloquism and the like, in the 
court house, possibly fifty years ago. Along with other 
things, the showman placed his wife against the door, and, 
standing off some paces, proceeded to throw butcher 
knives so that they would stick in the door all around her 
head and arms and body, so as barely to miss her. As 
soon as the first knife was thrown Father rose up in 
the audience, and, moving rapidly forward, called 
out to the man, “ Stop that ! Stop that ! Stop that, I 
tell you ! ” And, when the man stopped in his astonish- 
ment, he added : “ Now we will have no more of that ; ” 
and it was stopped right there, and while doubtless the 
audience were disappointed, no doubt they were still better 
pleased with the excitement the episode furnished them. 
I think I can hear Father’s voice, and see the flash of 
his eye, while he was limping towards that fellow and 
warning him to desist from a brutal and dangerous 


exhibition. While Father had a great deal of spirit, and, 

1 suspect, a very quick temper originally, I never remem- 
ber his losing his dignity on a single occasion, or “ speak- 
ing unadvisedly with his lips.” I never remember his 
finding fault with me, although I often received reproof, 
and on several occasions deserved chastisement; and, 
knowing now the kind of a cub 1 must have been, it 
is amazing to me what patience and gentleness Father 
showed toward me. I never saw Father lose his self- 
control, and this is more remarkable as he was very 
quick spirited naturally. 

This reminds me of the story of his teaching school 
near Fredericksburg, Virginia, when he was a very 
young man. He had witnessed some of the features 
peculiar to the institution of slavery — for instance the 
tying up of a slave woman by the thumbs, so that she 
could barely touch the ground, and flogging her as she 
hung, her screams being heard all night long — the punish- 
ment being caused by the jealously of her mistress — as 
well as other things of a similar nature, until he had 
become thoroughly sick of his position and disgusted 
with his surroundings. These things intensified the 
natural hatred he had for human slavery. He was about 
to leave, but the man who employed him, who was 

ii8 


the man who flogged his hand-maiden on account of his 
wife’s jealously, would not pay him his wages. Whether 
he had the means to get away or not I do not know, but 
he naturally wanted what was due him, and I do not know 
whether it was ever paid or not. But when his patience 
had been exhausted, an altercation took place in the 
school room, when Father struck the man, and, jumping 
up on the benches to secure a better advantage, he 
gave the man a severe pummeling and came off victor in 
the encounter. It was easy to account for the horror that 
Father had of the institution of slavery, long before 
the consciences of people generally had been aroused on 
the subject ; and also for his unwillingness to allow 
any child of his to go South, or live south of Mason 
and Dixon’s line. When 1 was Prothonotary, I ran across 
the record of a case — 1 believe it was in 1824, about 
the time of his coming to Washington— in which he 
endeavored to secure the liberation of a slave, who was 
probably being carried through the town, on a writ 
of hahecui corpus. 1 never learned anything further 
of the circumstances of the case. 

Father was admitted to the bar while teaching school in 
Virginia, in the county of Spottsylvania, and was examined 
for admission in the Lacey House, which is on the 


north branch of the Rappahannock, just below Fredericks- 
burg. In the winter of 1862-3, when the army 
of the Potomac was encamped just opposite Fredericks- 
burg, upon mentioning in a letter home that I had been 
doing picket duty at the Lacey House, he told me of 
his familiarity with it, and the surrounding country, 
within a short distance of which so many of the great 
battles were fought. I have preserved many of the 
letters written to me during this period by Father and 
Mother, and they are full of the most fervent patriotism 
and devout prayers for the safety and success of the 
Union cause. I have often been thankful that Father 
was. permitted to live to see the close of the Rebellion and 
the end of human slavery in America. 1 think that in 
witnessing the events that prepared for the war, the 
Rebellion of the South, the vastness of the war and 
the millions engaged in carrying it on, the final success of 
the Government through the Union armies without the 
disruption or loss of a State, the overthrow of slavery, the 
humiliation and impoverishment of those who had united 
treason and disunion, he felt that he had lived in one of 
the most remarkable eras of the World. No doubt his 
prayer was like that of Simeon of old : “ Lord, now lettest 
Thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen 


120 


Thy salvation, which Thou hast prepared before the face 
of all people,” for he distinctly recognized the result as 
the Lord’s doing and marvelous in our eyes.” The hand 
that saved us was, to him, the same that brought the peo- 
ple up out of Egypt and through the waters of the sea. 

Few people of a later generation can realize the terrible 
anxieties that consumed the minds and the hearts of 
the people who, at home, were watching the slow progress 
and the varying fortunes of our armies in the field during 
the war of the Rebellion ; and especially at those times 
when the fate of the Government seemed to be trembling 
in the balance, and when an accident or unforseen event, 
either affecting our armies, or among the people of the 
North, might turn the scale. This was the case with 
all loyal people who remained at home, watching and 
waiting, and realizing the mighty issues involved. But it 
was especially so in Father’s case, for his heart and soul 
were with the Government in its day of trial; and, 
although old age and infirmity were fast stealing over 
him, he gave his time, his money, and his best efforts, 
both by his pen and by public addresses at various points 
through the county, to encourage loyalty, support the 
soldiers in the field, and to discourage the treason that was 
heard on every side at home. The influence of venerable 

I2I 


and responsible men was very necessary to control the 
bitterness that was liable to break into violence and blood- 
shed upon the streets at any moment, and which in fact 
did so break out frequently with fatal effects. Great care 
was exercised continually to prevent such outbreaks, and 
as a rule people kept off the streets at night. Whether 
Father was a member of the Union League in Washington 
1 do not know, but brother Loudon was a member, and 
he told me that they were well organized and had 
their muskets and ammunition ready for use if any outbreak 
required it. Those were trying years in Washington and 
Washington County. The fidelity of the loyal people of 
the country who constituted the “ rear guard,” saved the 
government and made the successful issue of the war 
possible. 

The work that the loyal women did and their influence 
were also potent factors in the result. Mother’s share 
in this work was a conspicuous one in Washington 
County, and the work she performed as treasurer and 
chief manager of the Soldiers’ Aid Society of the county 
was simply amazing. In the great work of gathering 
in and disposing of the supplies sent to her, the keeping of 
accounts and the transaction of the business incident to 
.the same, she showed an ability possessed by few women. 


122 


It must have taxed her strength and time to a great degree. 
When I returned from the army Father was almost worn 
out. His mental faculties were as bright as ever, and 
being accustomed to intellectual work, he wrote to the 
last, but his bodily powers were rapidly failing. Those 
last years were anxious ones, and owing to advancing 
age and to the fact that legal business had been largely 
suspended during the war, his income grew smaller than 
it had been in former years. While I know that he 
was often cramped for money, (and 1 often think of 
it with great satisfaction that I was able to help him 
out in this particular) yet the wonder to me is that his last 
days were so serene and so little disturbed by the cares that 
he necessarily had and sometimes spoke of. 

His old age was beautiful, and the secret of it was 
his unworldly life. He was a singularly unworldly man, 
and, aside from his family, the world never had much 
hold upon him. It is impossible for me to think of 
Father without thinking of Mother, so perfectly were 
their lives blended. 1 can appreciate better now than 
1 could when a boy, how entirely dependent he was upon 
her for his happiness. When Mother happened to be dis- 
charging some social duty in the neighborhood in the ven- 
ing I well remember how utterly restless, weary and mis- 


123 


erable he was until her return, and how even the efforts of 
the girls to entertain him were insufficient to fill the void. 
It was a blessed thing that he had her to the last. Mother 
has given her life to us all, and has spent her prime in min- 
istering to our wants in every way, with an unselfishness 
that I can better understand the older I grow. That 
she has not walked for many years past is owing to 
the fact that her feet have been worn out in our service. 
If ever a woman deserved the respect, admiration and 
love of her children it is Mother. I have for years 
and years thought of her as the realization of the perfect 
pattern of the woman of Scripture, and therefore it shall 
be my tribute to her ; 

“Who can find a virtuous woman.? for her price 
is above rubies. 

The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her 
so that he shall have no need of spoil. 

She will do him good and not evil, all the days of 
her life. 

She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with 
her hands. 

She is like the merchants’ ships ; she bringeth her food 
from afar. 


124 


She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat 
to her household, and a portion to her maidens. 

She considereth a field, and buyeth it ; with the fruit of 
her hands she planteth a vineyard. 

She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth 
her arms. 

She perceiveth that her merchandize is good ; her 
candle goeth not out by night. 

She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold 
the distaff. She stretcheth out her hands to the poor; 
yea, she stretcheth forth her hands to the needy. 

She is not afraid of the snow for her household ; for all 
her household are clothed in scarlet. 

She maketh herself coverings of tapestry ; her clothing 
is silk and purple. Her husband is known in the gates, 
when he sitteth among the elders of the land. 

She maketh fine linen, and selleth it ; and delivereth 
girdles unto the merchant. 

Strength and honor are her clothing; and she shall 
rejoice in time to come. 

She openeth her mouth with wisdom ; and in her 
tongue is the law of kindness. 

She looketh well to the ways of her household, and 
eateth not the bread of idleness. 


125 


Her children arise up and call her blessed ; her husband 
also, and he praiseth her. 

Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou ex- 
cellest them all. 

Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain ; but a woman 
•that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. 

Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own 
work praise her in the gates.” 

Washington, Pennsylvania, 1890. 


«•••( 


»•••• 




126 


BY PAMELIA GOW ACHESON. 


“ Then did the little Maid reply, 

‘ Seven boys and girls are we : 

Two of us in the church-yard lie 
Beneath the church-yard tree.’ ” 

“ How many are you then ?” said I, 

“ If they two are in heaven ? ” 

Quick was the little Maid’s reply, 

“ 0 Master ! we are seven.” 

“ But they are dead ; those two are dead ! 
Their spirits are in heaven ! ” 

’Twas throwing words away ; for still 
The little Maid would have her will, 
And said, “ Nay, we are seven ! ” 


We children recognized that Father and Mother were in 
perfect accord, and this I think, ought to account for 
the deep affection we had for them and for each other. 
It was a feeling understood — taken for granted — yet talked 
about so little, that we have sometimes wondered that the 
impression was so deep. One of the very pathetic things 
in our experience was the love we had for the little sister, 
who was safe in heaven, before the most of us were 
born. That little lone grave was the centre around which 


127 


our affections grew, and much later in the history of 
the family when another sister was taken from us, we 
talked of their meeting and loving each other, but they 
still were our very own. The old graveyard on the 
edge of the town was to all of us the most sacred spot, 
and to go and sit on the grass, and read over and over 
again the inscription and epitaph which our dear Father 
wrote was, as 1 remember, the most tender influence of my 
childhood. 

“ Precious Loan, reclaimed by heaven, 

Ours, yet only ours in trust. 

Here thy mortal part is given 
(Sin’s sad merit) ‘ Dust to dust.’ 

What tho’ filled with bitter tears. 

Faith directs the weeping eye. 

Thro’ an atoning Savior’s blood, 

To life and immortality.” 

The older ones of the family helped to deepen this 
feeling in us little children, especially after the death of 
the second Eliza. One of the vivid recollections of that 
time is of our beloved sister Lucy, who always seemed to 
bear us on her heart, taking us younger children to visit 
the little graves — one of them so newly made — and the 
bond between us was strengthened anew as she read to us 
the last chapter of The Revelation. Without being 
demonstrative, Father always impressed me with his ten- 


128 


derncss. 1 never heard him speak of these little sisters 
without a break in his voice and tears in his eyes. His 
influence with us was very gentle and peculiar. Of course 
I write of him as he appeared to the younger members of 
the family. 

1 do not remember Father’s ever telling me to do or 
not to do anything. He would merely make a suggestion, 
and I never have had a stronger feeling than my desire to 
carry into practice any wish of his. I have no recollection 
of learning to read, and as I was quite a ready reader 
when Lucy was married — as I have special reason to 
remember — I must have had a pretty early start. 1 can 
see now that my reading was an entertainment and amuse- 
ment to Father, though I never thought of such a thing 
then. It was always a gratification to me when Father 
asked me if 1 had read anything which was already 
familiar to me ; and he must have had some plan in it. 
But one day as I was sitting in the office reading a paper, 
he said : “ Of course you have read ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress’ ? ” 
and I said “ No, sir.” He stepped from the office to the 
sitting-room and called “Mother! Mother!” Mother 
came in and he said: “Can you believe it? this child 
who reads everything she can find, has not read ‘ Pilgrim’s 
Progress ’ ! Is she worth raising ” I rather doubted it, 


129 


but for a queer look out of Father's eye. In a few days 
he went to Supreme Court, and when he came home 
he brought me a little “ Pilgrim's Progress,” bound 
in black cloth, with astonishing wood cuts, and the date 
of presentation indicates that I was in my seventh year. 
He set me to reading Scott’s novels very early by asking 
me if I knew Meg Merilies, and as I did not, I felt that it 
was time 1 did, though Father did not say so. From that 
very day Sir Walter had one more industrious reader and 
admirer. Another instance came later when he said : 
” Macbeth is a good play to begin with in Shakespeare. If 
you read ‘ Macbeth’ you will read Shakespeare through.” 
I immediately commenced “ Macbeth,” and I can see how 
he intended 1 should, but not as a task. 1 remember with 
gratitude that he never asked me a useful knowledge 
question. He took more interest in finding out incidentally 
what we were thinking about, after we had taken in 
the regulation number of facts. 

Mother, during all my childhood, was, in my mind, 
a very decided character. The following incident I 
especially remember as illustrative of this fact. When I 
was with Lucy in Minnesota in one of Father’s letters to 
us he told of a visit some of our southern relations 
were making at our house, and how Mother could hardly 


130 


let him sleep at night, on account of her indignation 
against their expressed views on slavery and states’ rights — 
which were beginning even then to agitate the country — 
so that he supposed he would have to write the article for 
the papers which she had been dictating to him. Many 
and many were the times after I came home, a girl 
of fifteen, that I have seen Mother work Father up to the 
place where he would express all she had in her mind. 
Mother had supreme faith that Father could write just 
what she wanted expressed, but had neither the practice or 
time to write herself. 

Father did not have clearer or better views on the 
great questions of the day than Mother, and in the 
table talks, which were one of the marked features of our 
household. Mother’s opinion held an equal place with 
Father’s and Father honored her accordingly. 

Mother was the busiest person I ever knew, not only in 
the immense amount of actual work that comes to a great 
household, which for at least thirty years was rarely 
without some one besides our own family to add to 
her care, and an amount of company which would have 
paralyzed most people, but she was always interested 
in outside people and things, in the questions of the 
day, religious and political, in books, and her social 


duties which were never neglected. Her interest in people 
was phenomenal. Both Father and Mother had the 
enthusiasm which led them to discern the interesting traits 
in all kinds of people. The familiar faces of those who 
frequented the office, and who were called by us children 
the “clients,” come before me now'; John R. Griffith, 
the shoemaker, who made shoes for us all ; Daddy Potter, 
thecartman ; Mr. Rose, “ a descendant of the Boscawens,” 
dancing master, editor, politician, book -binder, decayed 
gentleman asking for charity in the style of Micawber ; 
Mr. Boardman, paper-hanger and Protestant Methodist 
local preacher ; Mr. Hawkins, the tailor, who always came to 
the office for “ The National Intelligencer ” and “ The 
New York Observer” ; Old Arnold, who in his old 
age went home to Ireland to die, but came back in a 
few weeks saying ; “ Bedad ! there is nothing to eat 
there.” All these worthies came and went, read the 
papers, enjoyed the peace and quiet of the office, and had 
the pleasure of Father’s unvarying thoughtfulness and 
kindness. The newspapers on the office table were great 
educators, and double duty did not begin to express their 
service. These people were interesting to Father, the very 
narrowness of their lives seeming to emphasize their 
peculiarities, and he enjoyed in real life what most people 


132 


only enjoy, at second hand, in books. I know now how 
these friendships must have taxed his patience at times, 
but he made no sign of impatience, and we children would 
as soon have been disrespectful to Father, as to any 
of the recipients of his favor. Then some of Mother’s 
friends come to mind. She was always planning to 
do something for somebody. For her own family, 
her brothers and sisters, her nephews and nieces, her 
generosity, goodness and unselfishness were, 1 have 
sometimes feared, too much a matter of course. “ Lord, 
keep my memory green ! ” 

Much of her good work was appreciated and acknowl- 
edged when she had forgotten it. There was Nettie, who 
came to Mother with not much more training than Topsy, 
and Mother immediately commenced as faithful a work 
with her as she was giving to her own children. For a 
long time Nettie’s chief promise seemed to lie in imitating 
the manners and movements of her mistress, while her 
admiration for Miss Lucy took the direction of reproducing 
the glee music of the day after the manner of our sweet 
singer. Do you older ones remember how she used to 
sing “Our way across the mountains, ho”! and “The 
Mellow Horn ” Mother taught her to sew in addition to 
the ordinary work that such girls learned, and she became 


133 


quite expert with her needle. After she went away and had 
a family, she came back to thank Mother for having taken 
such an interest in her as no one else ever had. I think 
appreciation was entirely a secondary consideration with 
both Father and Mother. When there were evidences of 
gratitude in any of the number they helped in such various 
ways, of course it gave them pleasure, but the lack of it 
never seemed to discourage them. It was enough if any 
one was lonely, or neglected, or distressed ; they had a 
genius for coming to the rescue. The number of them 
would be sufficient to fill a valuable annex to the “ Old 
Curiosity Shop.” Next door to the old house was the 
“ Good ” house. For years this was used as a Methodist 
parsonage. The term of pastorate was then one year, and 
every year brought a new family. They were generally 
poor as poverty, and, moving so frequently, had little of 
this world’s goods, even of necessary things ; so Mother 
made up the deficiency, year after year, by lending them 
various articles of movable furniture, which made their 
lives a little easier. Most of them, and other changing 
neighbors, were regarded as a kind of a charge by Mother. 
The impression her goodness made on my childish mind 
was that she did not want anything in this world unless 
everybody else was supplied first. As far as I was able to 


134 


judge, she was perfectly unselfish, and to-day 1 see no 
reason to change my mind. Among our near neighbors 
was a dressmaker, who had the hardest of lives — an 
utterly inefficient husband and a large family of children. 
The oldest, a daughter, was being sacrificed as a nurse- 
girl ; all chance of her common-school education slipping 
away from her because the mother could not support her 
family and take care of the children too. Mother saw 
fine possibilities in this girl, and was not content until, by 
her importunities, she succeeded in showing the mother 
how she could manage to send her to school. Brother 
Alex, was principal of the school at this time, and, his 
interest being aroused, he was able to make special arrange- 
ments for her benefit. Thus between them they man- 
aged to secure to her her little allowance of schooling. 
All she needed was a chance, and in a few years she was 
in a position to teach a country school — all the time 
studying and making the most of her opportunities. 
Years ago she left our town, and we knew she was doing 
well ; and when she had occasion to come back Mother 
was the one to whom she gratefully turned. Nor was 
Alex.’s interest in her ever forgotten. She is now a suc- 
cessful physician in New York City, of the regular school, 
and her field of usefulness is very wide. She has the 


135 


grace to remember how easy it would have been for 
Mother to have been a little less persistent in her behalf. 

Mother inherited from her mother a certain impulsive- 
ness, more French than Scotch, and, as she was not 
troubled with too much introspection, her impulses were 
generally carried out. The best lessons we children 
ever received in manners and even morals, came through 
this peculiarity of Mother’s. She never was given to moral- 
izing or didactic instruction, but she had a way of suddenly 
swooping down, as it were, on our little individual traits, 
and of reversing plans that did not redound to our credit. 
When 1 was not much more than an infant Mother let me 
have a party, at which 1 was allowed to use the little 

tea-set Jim had given to Mary and Eliza. I gave the 

invitations to the children of our nearest neighbors and to 
my cousins. At this point Mother heard a conversation 
between me and one of the favored guests ; this little 

woman of the world was telling me how she had 

triumphed over another little girl — also a neighbor — who 
was not invited. She was not a very near neighbor, 
and my party was not general, but Mother instantly came 
on the scene and informed us that the invitations were 
not yet all given, and she intended to give this one herself, 
which she immediately proceeded to do. We children 


136 


had a very decided lesson in the art of giving a high tea. 
The fact of the matter was that I knew just as well 
as Mother that there was not much fitness in inviting 
this child, but I also took in something else that was of 
more importance. 

Mother’s social duties never suffered. She always did 
her full share in calling upon and entertaining strangers 
and friends. 1 am sure 1 do not know how she managed. 
She never allowed herself or Father to fall into unsocial 
habits. Her industrial school work and her public work 
during the war represented an immense amount of energy 
and executive ability. The garden claimed much of her 
attention. Our old garden was, 1 truly believe, the nicest 
garden next to Eden. This was the place in which we 
grew. It was wonderfully well kept, and Mother was very 
fond of working in it. She often says she inherited her 
fondness for gardening from her mother, as all Mother’s 
daughters have inherited the taste from her. We always 
had flowers enough to send to our neighbors and friends ; 
and our grapes, which were our chief fruit, were enjoyed 
by^any people besides ourselves. We had great quanti- 
ties of spring flowers — crocuses, daffodils, hyacinths, jon- 
quils and tulips, and it was a custom in the family to keep 
Father’s office table supplied with flowers from the first 


137 


blue hyacinth to the last monthly rose. The blue hyacinth 
is so associated with Father’s memory that the perfume at 
times affects my nerves like old time music — the pain is 
greater than the pleasure. In my time Father never 
worked in the garden, but he enjoyed it greatly. 

After his health declined I remember one spring he had 
been shut up in his room all the early months, and had 
not realized how the season was advancing. When he 
was able to walk across the hall into the back parlor. 
Mother led him to the window overlooking the whole 
place, in all the beauty of the spring flowers. It was like 
a miracle to him, and he enjoyed it as a child. We had 
cleaned the martin boxes and put them up, and they were 
full of birds, and he was as glad to see them as though 
they were old friends. We children were always so proud 
of these little boxes, with chimneys and windows and 
porches like real houses. Father made them and kept 
them in repair ; and putting them up in the spring was 
quite an event in the family. The children of the neigh- 
borhood thought them very wonderful. 1 suppose Mother 
has given enough flowers out of her garden to plant acres 
of ground. Everybody who admired or wanted them 
had only to suggest, and Mother was ready to stock a new 
garden out of hers. The beauty of her garden was that 


138 


there was so much in it that was perennial it was hard to 
destroy it. Year after year the same things were found. 
If the sweet violets and the lilies of the valley had not had 
their own places half the charm would have been lost. 
There were certain places in the garden where we used to 
sit and enjoy the sights and sounds — the top step of the 
stairs leading from the paved court to the garden, and the 
bench in the grapery. The ice-house steps particularly 
were the place where all manner of subjects were discussed. 
There has been enough theology discussed on those ice- 
house steps to stock a theological seminary. Politically, 
morally and socially we straightened out the question of 
the hour to the best of our ability ; and if it did not stay 
straight we had, at least, the benefit of clearing up our 
own views. When we, as a family, were through with 
the old house it was something of a relief to have it pass 
into the hands of strangers, who utterly changed the face 
of things. We are glad we shall never see strange faces 
in the places associated with Father and Mother and all 
that we held sacred and precious. The houses, opposite 
each other, in which our family life was lived are gone, 
and new business houses replace them. The old gardens 
are completely destroyed, and the one 1 knew best has not 
a foot of the soil left upon it. 


139 


Plainly we are not to allow the things of this world to 
take possession of our minds. Twice in my life has fire 
destroyed the precious little things which we associate with 
those we love. Three times has this happened to our 
dear sister Ellen ; and the last tire seems not only to have 
destroyed all her possessions, but also almost all desire in 
that direction. Surely it is plain we are to depend on our 
memory and our affections for continuity in happiness — 
our house and garden having vanished from our sight are 
in a closer sense our very own. Our imagination is free 
to come and go. We live over again our childhood and 
youth, and no unsympathetic stranger waits our departure. 
We are widely scattered and there is little prospect of our 
ever meeting as a family in this world, but we can hold 
fast to what our beloved Father and Mother so greatly 
desired for us — love and trust in each other. And so 
united let us give to our dear Mother, on her eighty -first 
birthday, the gift she will hold most precious — these 
“ Recollections of her Children.” 

Washington, Pennsylvania, 1888. 


140 


BY GEORGE LOUDON GOW * 


“So every season its pleasure found; 

Though the children never strayed beyond 
The dear old hills that hemmed them round. 

Oh, youth, whatever we lose or secure. 

One good we can all keep safe and sure, 

Who remember a childhood, happy and pure ! 

And hard indeed must a man be made. 

By the toil and traffic of gain and trade. 

Who loves not the spot where a boy he played.” 


My earliest recollections of Father go back to the time 
when he was County Superintendent of Schools of Wash- 
ington County, Pennsylvania, about the year 1856, when 
I was ten years old. When he had been elected 1 do not 
remember, but it must have been about the time that 
Alex, and Jim went to Illinois, which was then the far 
West. During this period 1 really became better acquainted 
with Father than at any other time, excepting perhaps, the 
few years at the immediate close of his life. Indeed, 
except for Father’s being County Superintendent, and thus 
being compelled to hold teachers’ examinations in at least 

♦Brother lyoudon died August 4, 1890. 


every township in the county, my knowledge of the world 
as acquired by travel would have been limited to Canons- 
burg, a trip to Wheeling with Tom Gregg, and excursions 
to the woods around town during the nutting season. I 
was never at Pittsburg until during the war. But while 
Father was traveling in connection with his office, at least 
during the latter part of his term, he almost always took 
some one with him to drive and for company, and exceed- 
ingly pleasant rides he made of them. On these trips he 
would repeat, and I would commit to memory, many of 
the old style poems, such as “ Gray’s Elegy,” “ Alexander 
Selkirk’s Soliloquy,” “ Casablanca,” and a great many of 
the old hymns. The object of this, 1 think, was partly 
literary culture, but principally to keep us both awake, for 
the long trips over the bad roads did become exceedingly 
tiresome, but never so much so as to make me hesitate 
about going when the next offer was made. 

There were certain books which Father was particularly 
fond of. ■ The first was the Bible. His reading of the 
Bible was done so quietly and unostentatiously that it was 
hardly noticeable; nevertheless it was a rare thing that 
Father neglected to read the Bible every day, in addition 
to the reading at family worship ; and during the last 
years of his life he almost entirely transcribed it in the 


142 


study and practice of short-hand, using what is now the 
very crude art of “ Pitman’s,” or “ Longley's,” Phonog- 
raphy. As he retained his memory to the last, of course 
he must have had a very large amount of Scripture texts, 
as well as Bible history, stored in his mind. I think he must 
have been particularly well read in Bible history, for he 
was constantly using ancient and classical histories having 
a bearing on the stories of the Bible. But Father took 
even a greater interest in the doctrinal discussions of the 
Bible than in the historical parts. He was not one of the 
kind who are always ready for a doctrinal discussion, and 
more than willing to leave any important duty for the 
sake of setting some one else theologically right. But he 
had a great many friends with whom he discussed parts of 
the “ Book of Common Prayer,” “ The Shorter Cate- 
chism,” “psalmody,” “close communion,” and other 
subjects on which Christians differ. But 1 never remem- 
ber of such discussions leading to ill-feeling. Indeed, they 
were more apt to cement an already warm friendship with 
his disputants. He had a particular fondness for the poet- 
ical parts of the Bible and the eloquent passages in the 
historical books. 1 remember him reading the ninetieth 
and ninety-first psalms very often, also the twelfth chapter 
of Ecclesiastes ; and a great many times 1 have heard him 


143 


recite : “ Oh, Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! thou that killest the 
prophets and stonest them that are sent unto thee ; how 
often would I have gathered thy children together as a hen 
gathereth her chickens under her wings, but ye would not.” 
He thought this one of the most touching passages in the 
entire Bible. He also found great pleasure in the “ Epistle 
to the Hebrews.” One of his favorite books was the 
Episcopal “ Book of Common Prayer.” He more than 
read it — he studied it. He admired it for its literary char- 
acter, as well as for the fact that its use gave a dignity to 
public worship that went to the other extreme from the 
customs of the churches in the early part of the century 
in their revival work. In the religious as well as the secu- 
lar field he was a strong advocate of the education of both 
young and old, and was not tied down to any particular 
denomination so closely that he could not recognize the 
good to be found in all the others. He was a Calvinist, 
and therefore, in Western Pennsylvania, a Presbyterian. 
But had Congregationalism been established there, 1 think 
that would have been the church to which he would have 
attached himself. It was his New England church. It 
was Calvinistic in doctrine, he believed in its ecclesiastical 
polity, and its views and utterances on the slavery question 
met his approbation and admiration. After Father’s early 


144 


experience in Virginia, it was very difficult for him to 
credit any organization with much religion which did not 
actively antagonize the system of slavery. I have heard 
him, after telling me of some of the horrible cruelties — 
such as naked woman tied to a tree and beaten — which 
he saw himself, speak of some of the Presbyterian pulpit 
teaching on the subject, with a bitterness so intense as to 
make him change color. His hatred of cruelty and injus- 
tice, and particularly of the cruelty and injustice of 
slavery, was so deeply seated as to be one of the most 
marked characteristics of his nature. To him there was 
no personal gain in being a hater of slavery. He 
did not even receive the benefit he might have derived 
from belonging to the political party of the Abolitionists. 
He hated slavery because it was wrong, and not for party 
reasons. He always had independence of character to 
form and announce his opinions according to his own 
conscience. Father’s quiet moral influence, his habit 
of leading in family worship twice a day, and our observ- 
ance of the Sabbath as a sacred day, and yet a day 
of delightful family intercourse, made a deep impression 
on me from my earliest recollection. But Father was 
sensitive in regard to the expression of personal religious 
experience, and had a shrinking from any parade of 


145 


his religion. I do not remember ever hearing Father 
lead in prayer in a prayer meeting, though he did some- 
times. He had a peculiar diffidence about such exercises 
which, considering his readiness in public speaking and in 
other lines of public work, seems remarkable. But I 
think we can safely say of those who are on their feet in 
religious meetings so much oftener than he was that there 
are few who are so deeply religious. Father never talked 
to me much on the subject of personal religion, but 
there was never a time when his influence in this respect 
was not strong. When I united with the church it 
pleased him very much, and he spoke to me very 
earnestly and kindly on the subject. I remember distinctly 
his appearance and actions on that communion Sabbath. 
It was evidently as impressive an occasion to him as 
to myself. On only one other occasion do I remember 
him as speaking more solemnly ; that was one winter 
night, when he and I walked out to Rankintown together 
to write old Mr. Mountz’s will. His talk that night 
I shall never forget, for never before or after had he 
so evidently tried to impress upon me his own personal 
belief in God, his strong faith that things which he 
then could not understand would come all right, and 
that God would take care of his own. He gave me some 


146 


of his own personal history which 1 never knew before, 
except in a general way, and told me of some bitter 
disappointments, the particulars of which were new 
to me. Pointing to a certain house on the way and 
alluding to its occupant — the worst man he ever had 
known — he said he could not understand why such 
temporal prosperity had been accorded to him, but 
it did not shake his faith in the faithfulness, the mercy, 
and the justice of God. He said further, alluding to his 
own age and infirmities : “ 1 will probably never live to see 
it, for 1 am nearly through, but 1 want to make a 
prediction which I think you will live to see fulfilled — the 
destruction of him and his influence will come within your 
time.” It was not said bitterly, but because he believed in 
God and wanted to impress me with his own belief, 
and prepare me for like experiences in my own life. And 
many, many times has the conversation come to my 
mind with a supporting power which I cannot express 
in words. But Father’s silent influence with me was his 
greatest. I have read a great many books because I had 
seen him read them. I have many times committed to 
memory poetry which I did not understand, not because he 
told me to, but because he admired and studied it. 
When I was very young I asked him to give me the little 


147 


pamphlet edition of “ The Grave '' and “ Gray's Eleg-y " 
which he had printed and bound in black muslin as 
well as in paper ; and although then 1 could not read “ The 
Grave,” at least with much appreciation, I selected the 
better bound edition to preserve, because 1 knew it must be 
worth preservation or he would not have given it such 
marked attention. 1 have two Bibles in which he wrote 
the lines ; 

“ Within this awful volume lies 
The mystery of mysteries ; 

And happiest they of human race, 

To whom the truth has given grace 
To read, to love, to hope, to pray. 

To lift the latch, to force the way ; 

And better had they ne’er been born 
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.” 

To-day the books which I prize most highly are 
the ones I got from his library. 1 have his “ Shakes- 
peare ” that he kept on the lower shelf of his office 
book-case to the north of the sitting-room door; his 
volumes of “ Scott’s novels,” which stood on the third 
shelf of one of the cases in the sitting-room ; and a 
large number of others which 1 see very often in my 
dreams just where they always stood on the shelves, or 
in his hands, as he sat before the office fire with his 
feet on a chair. 1 can easily see him reading the Bible, 


148 


Shakespeare, Milton, Burns, Byron, English history, 
Macaulay, “ Waverly Novels,” “ D’Aubigne’s Reforma- 
tion,” and many others. I have also his “ Corpus 
Juris Civilis” which he bought from a German tramp 
in whom he became interested. It is an edition of 
1620, in Latin, thoroughly read and annotated in red ink. 
Father was a student all his life, both in general literature 
and in law. 1 studied Blackstone with him for about 
a year, and it was a very valuable experience, as it was the 
only drill 1 ever had. He took occasion many times 
to make suggestions as to the way I should conduct 
my future study, and also as to the ethics of the pro- 
fession — a branch which is no longer taught or practiced. 
He must have almost memorized the four volumes 
of Blackstone. He owned half a dozen editions, but 
I presume that was partly for the accommodation of 
his students, of whom he always had several on his 
books. He had a wide reputation as a law preceptor. 1 
wish 1 had known him as a practitioner. As 1 remember 
him he simply had an office practice. He tried a few 
cases of contested wills after his health failed, which 
1 remember him as working very hard over. Judging 
from the way he examined witnesses in the office, he 


149 


must have been a very hard worker when he had 
a general practice. 

Father always took great pleasure in writing for the 
newspapers. His portfolio nearly always contained some 
unfinished editorials ; the subjects being generally in 
the line of national politics, but frequently of local 
application, and having as their texts some article or 
paragraph from the opposition local paper. During 
the life time of his friend John Bausman he must have 
done a large proportion of his editorial work. When 
Mr. Moore succeeded to the “Reporter” after Mr. 
Bausman’s death, his work in this line increased largely. 
His articles were not personal or vituperative. Some- 
times they were humorous throughout, or abounded 
in humorous allusions. He used to enjoy writing in the 
Irish brogue, and speaking it, especially when his con- 
versation was with some laboring man who had a keen 
sense of humor. Our county was very closely divided 
politically, and the bitterness of party strife was intense 
during the war. Father, having been for forty years 
a strong anti -slavery man, and having looked forward 
to some such culmination as the war, and being a 
very strong adherent to the doctrine of a tariff for 
protection, found a great deal to write about. He strongly 


sympathized with John Brown, and his contempt for 
southern cowardice and braggadocio was supreme. Having 
a natural love for literature, being well versed in history, 
and having an intense desire to see his principles tri- 
umphant, he gave much hard labor to accomplish this 
end, for which he took his pay in the satisfaction he had 
in seeing the desired end accomplished. That he lived to 
see the close of the war was a source of great satisfaction 
to us all. 

I find as I grow older, and after being away from 
the old house for twenty-two years, that its nooks 
and corners are firmly fixed in my mind, and are all 
associated with Father and Mother. In my dreams, when 
1 find myself up in the old garret — with its eight little 
rooms with dormer windows — in the room where we kept 
things out of use, in the room where the hole went 
through to the attic of the back building, with a descent 
of about three feet, the abode of “spooks” and a 
receptacle of coal soot — where I have crawled many 
and many a time for my private devotions, why I do not 
know — or in the room where we kept the walnuts, or 
in Nettie’s room, I very often find Father and Mother with 
me. 1 meet them also in the garden, mending the 
steps of the terrace, or the walks, or the borders, or 


the graperies, or the pigeon boxes, or the martin boxes, 
chiefly the latter, and if I had to give up the influence 
upon my life of the old home and its surroundings or 
of Washington College, it would not take me two 
minutes to decide that the influence of the college should 
“ go.” Father and Mother loved the old home, and 
it would be impossible to say which did the most to make 
it what it was. Father was a natural mechanic and 
loved to work about the property, making and mending, 
and he inspired the children more or less with the same 
spirit. They were both fond of gardening. The aspara- 
gus bed by the ice-house, the hot-bed along the north 
fence, the vegetable beds on the south side of the 
long walk, the sweet corn patch down by the stable, 
are all as fresh in my mind as though 1 had seen them to- 
day. It is not the fashion to have such homes nowadays. 
What will the children of the coming generation be 
without their influence ? The value of such a home 
consisted very largely in the fact that every child was 
recognized as having a part to perform in making it. We 
all had an interest in the house -keeping, the repairing, in 
the care of the horse, the cow, the chickens, in the opening 
up in the morning and locking up at night. Each one 
had his alloted task and the responsibility for its per- 


152 


formance. Originally our house had twenty rooms and 
eleven outside doors. During the war it was my business 
to lock up at night. 1 would begin at the north-west 
office window, then the door with its slide and bolt, then 
hang the key at the side of the door, then lock the 
south-west window, then try the old safe and shut the 
key slide. This safe would not have resisted fire or 
burglars for fifteen minutes, but it had to be locked 
just as carefully, and the big brass key, six inches long, 
safely laid on the table by Father’s bedside. Then 1 
would lock the front hall door, then the back hall door, 
and look in the closet under the stairs. Then start up 
stairs, examine the porch door at the head of the stairs, 
and lock the door leading to the garret. I would then 
pass through the parlors, examine windows and corners, 
look through the chambers on the front of the house, then 
pass into Father’s room leaving the safe key on the 
table, then pass to the back hall, examining all doors 
and windows and closets. Then 1 would go down 
the back stairs and out to the coal house, seeing that 
every door, window and closet of kitchen, dining-room 
and back entry was properly closed and locked for 
the night. Then, returning to the sitting-room and 
fastening the windows, my round was made. Think 


153 


of all this, “ Friends, lovers and countrymen,” as 
done by a boy on a winters night at nine or ten o’clock, 
all tired out to begin with, and frequently with a feeling 
of fear of meeting some one on his rounds whose presence 
would not be welcome. And many is the time that 
1 have wondered, after getting into bed, whether a certain 
door or window was locked, and after long pondering 
over it, have crawled out of bed and gone down stairs 
to see. And many is the time I have made the rounds a 
second time on a winter night, but I do not think I 
ever found I had neglected a point, for it was all done 
so systematically. The discomfort of such bad habits 
of uncertainty might well be laughed at, if occasionaly 
1 did not yet make the rounds in my dreams. This 
extreme care was caused partly by the fact that our 
community was not a law abiding community in those 
troublous times, and burglary and other crimes were feared. 

I have among my treasures one of the iron casts of 
the sun dial that Father worked at about the year 
1860. The model was made in the office, with the 
tools which had formerly belonged to Mr. Schaffer, 
a silversmith. The mathematical calculations which were 
required to make the dial reliable for that locality, I think 
he made himself, as he was very fond of the study 


154 


of mathematics, particularly when applied to some 
interesting problem. The stone sun dial that always 
stood in our garden, with “ Tempus fugit” and “ Carpe 
diem” engraved on the face, was his work. It was 
an object of interest to all who saw it. 

I never heard Father complain of his sickness, although 
he must have suffered intensely, and his sickness extended 
through many years. He was very patient and bore his 
troubles heroically. Even when very weak in body 
his mind was employed. 

During the war there were two orders of the “ Union 
League ; ” one was an open order which was more in aid 
of the Republican party than anything else ; the other was 
the “ Secret Union League,” which, in addition to being a 
political organization, was established for self-protection 
during the dark days of the war. Father united with 
both, and I remember his delivering an address to the 
“ Secret Lodge ” assembled in its rooms on Beau street, just 
about the time the younger members, including myself, 
went out in the three months service. It was a dangerous 
time in Washington, when there was every reason to 
believe that the “ Knights of the Golden Circle ” were well 
organized ; but Father was ready to identify himself with 
the active work then required, wherever he could be of use. 


155 


I have very pleasant recollections of Father during; 
1863-64-65, when I was engaged in working at the 
court house. His business days were then almost past 
and his income was small. John was in the army and the 
younger girls were not yet through their studies at 
Oxford. On Saturdays 1 generally worked in one 
of the public offices, and for a long time 1 took 
the entire charge of the Recorder's office as Deputy. 
Father was very much pleased with this, not only because 
it brought in some money, but because it was giving 
me valuable experience. 1 felt very proud when he 
would drop in on me and sit awhile ; it was not wasted 
time for either of us, and his praises made me very happy. 

Father came nearer being a perfect man — pure in mind, 
honest, just, firm and yet charitable — than any man I ever 
knew. 

There is a great difference between the impression made 
upon a child by a father and a mother. If I were asked 
which of the two did the most toward moulding my 
character I would have to answer, 1 do not know. If I 
were asked with which one 1 felt the most familiarity, 
1 would have to answer, 1 cannot tell. If 1 should try to 
determine whose virtues were most marked, Father's or 
Mother's, 1 should fail in the attempt. While they 

156 


were very different in many respects, they were 
wonderfully alike in many. Their fitness for each 
other was marvelous, and neither could have been 
what each was, without the help of the other. How 
Mother ever managed to accomplish her work is more 
than I can understand. I was the tenth child and have a 
very distinct recollection of living at home, when the only 
absent ones of the family— except the two Elizas, whom 1 
do not remember, but whom I thought I loved as much as 
if 1 did remember them personally — were Alex, who lived 
down on Beau street, and Lucy who lived in Canonsburg. 
Our family then numbered ten, not counting our 
occasional help. Mother was the general of all the forces. 
To be sure, the ways of living were very different from 
the present style. But we all had to be fed and clothed ; 
we had to be sent to school on week days, and to church 
and Sunday School on Sunday. We also had to be pro- 
vided for on Saturdays, and oh, what that did mean ! 
First of all it meant for her to get up and go to market, if 
it was only to buy a soup- bone and some beefsteak. 
Does any one know why she did it .? (Because we had 
no meat markets except at that time in the morning. 
Meat markets, green grocers, and provision stores came in 
with the “ Hempfield Railroad,” about the year 


157 


1858. Ed.) I remember often being called up at from 
four to six o’clock in the morning, depending on the 
season, and following her to market. It was only a 
square away, but it seemed like a mile. If it were only to 
get meat it did not take long, but if it were during the 
spring or summer when we bought chickens, fruit and 
vegetables we got out pretty early, and many is the time 
1 have gone to sleep on my feet while holding the basket 
for Mother. Many is the time she stood me up against 
one of the posts through which the chain ran that marked 
the limit of the market, to watch the basket while she 
should go around the market on a voyage of discovery. 
My eyes would grow very heavy and my feet cold. The 
dear old lady would finally get around and we would 
start home with our heavily laden basket. The next duty 
was to do the baking for breakfast — on Saturday we 
always had warm bread — and for a dozen people it was no 
small work. 1 often wonder if Mother’s bread was as 
good as my recollection tells me it was. She baked 
a large raised cake which was broken for eating. It 
was generally raised, in the winter, before the sitting-room 
fire, in a sheet iron pan with a cover, though sometimes 
only a cloth was spread over it. On one occasion our 
little dog “ Canis ” set his foot on the cloth and left 


158 


the impression on the cake much to the amusement of 
the family. Whatever that bread may have been, 1 know 
a piece of that white cake with its crisp crust and butter, 
especially if the butter had been churned just before 
breakfast, and a saucer of thick molasses to sop up, 
was worthy of its maker. Then wasn’t she good, after 
the cow was milked and taken to the pasture lot, in 
allowing me to go to the woods for nuts, or a fishing for 
minnows, or a swimming, or visiting to Dr. Aldrich’s, or 
Adam Beck’s, or Mr. Farley’s ? And it made no difference 
whether I got back before dark or not. (This last remark 
is an unconscious tribute to a quality in Mother that 
was remarkable. She was not indifferent to the coming 
home of her boys, but on the other hand deeply solicitous 
as the girls of the family can testify. But the boys 
did not realize it, for they generally had a good excuse 
for being late, and Mother never let her own fear or 
anxiety mar the pleasures and pursuits of her children, 
even when they were dangerous. The result was our 
boys never stole their pleasures, or engaged in pursuits 
in which Mother was not in sympathy. Ed.) The last act 
of the day was to wash our feet and put us to bed,' and 
when Mother or an older sister washed them they were 


159 


cleaner than when that duty was left to our own judgment. 

My recollection of Mother on Sunday is very pleasant. 
It was a day quietly spent and yet there was a pleasant 
sociability about it that made it a happy day for children. 
It was very different from our week days, and yet it was a 
day in which we thoroughly enjoyed our home and 
each other. We read a good deal, but were not com- 
pelled to. A Sabbath afternoon nap was a frequent thing ; 
but it was even more frequent in the summer for Mother, 
and sometimes Father, and nearly all the family to 
congregate on the ice-house or terrace steps and enjoy a 
family rest. I do not know how Mother always kept up 
her regular habit of attending church and at the same 
time attended so faithfully to her household duties. 

One of the great pleasures of my life now is very 
often tc) meet people who knew Father and Mother in 
their early days and during the war, who always speak of 
them in the kindest words, and very frequently remind me 
of some kind word or deed which has influenced their 
lives for half a century, perhaps, since. The last such 
occasion was only a few weeks ago, when Steve and 
Jinny Guinea met me in Greenfield and we had a pleasant 
talk of the kind. It principally referred to war times. 


when, as they said, Mother served her country as no other 
woman in the county. Mother was surrounded by people 
who needed her, whose lives were made both better and 
happier by her allowing them to lean upon her, and 
to feel that they could tell her their trouble, without 
any danger of being betrayed. 

And how many there were in the old town to whom 
she was a good angel ! There were young and old, rich 
and poor, high and low, to whom she ministered con- 
tinually. God bless her as she blessed them ! While 
Mother was such a constant worker at home, among her 
friends in society and in so many different fields, how did 
she ever find time for reading as she did ? As I remem- 
ber her previous to 1867, when 1 left home, she always 
read the daily paper. She was interested in the great 
political, social and religious questions which were agitating 
the country. “ The Independent ” and Henry Ward 
Beecher’s weekly sermon were always read. She knew 
the Bible and was so thoroughly versed in the psalms and 
hymns that I remember her as always singing at worship, 
but never using a book. She was thoroughly versed 
in the theological standards of the church, and could 
repeat the catechisms. It is one of the things for which 1 
am particularly thankful, that each of my three babies 


carries a happy recollection of dear “ Grandmother Gow/' 
as one of the saints for whom a blessing is always 
specially sought. 

Greenfield, Iowa, 1888. 


BY ANNIE MURDOCH GOW DARLEY. 


“And I pity that woman, or grave or gay, 

Who keeps not fresh in her heart alway 
The tender dreams of her life’s young day.” 

To my blessed Mother, of whose love and patience 
and wonderful unselfishness 1 thought 1 knew something ; 
but since I sat by her last summer, for the first time 
in thirteen years, and looked into her beautiful face, 
1 know we shall never know the depth of her goodness in 
this world. 

On first hearing of the family “ Memorial ” 1 rejoiced, 
but thought as Virginia and 1 were so nearly “ precisely 
twins ” — for did we not both see the light of this world on 
August sixteenth, between the hours of twelve and 
one just two years apart ? — she could represent us both. 
We came rather at the fag end of the family, when 
the interest was dwindling, as it could hardly have been as 
exciting to hear of a Gow baby in '48 and '50 as in 
'28 and ' 30 . Still to nearly have twins to wind up with 
made up somewhat for the lack of interest. (Mrs. 
Darley was not old enough to know anything about the 

163 


“ interest ” that was felt when the “ little girls ” were born, 
and she is entirely mistaken. 1 was there and helped 
Mother prepare for their coming, and when they came 
there was great rejoicing. Ed.) But all were needed 
to complete the chain. 

In the different towns in which we have lived my 
husband in speaking of marrying in Washington has never 
failed to meet the same kind of a response from some- 
body : “ What, John L. Gow’s daughter ” “ That 

is fine stock,” said Dr. Dickson of the “ Home Board,” 
adding : “ John L. Gow gave me my first certificate 
to teach school and was kind to me.” A lawyer in 
Iowa and two old men in Nebraska spoke of him as 
a “ noted lawyer.” One man spoke of Murdoch being an 
“honorable name.” I fail to remember the numbers 
I have met who have said ; “ Alex. Gow’s sister ? Oh 
yes, he did lots for me, I have his ‘ Good Morals and 
Gentle Manners ’ — a good book that ought to be a 
text book.” Or, “your brother was very strict, but it 
was a blessed thing for me ; he made me.” 

In Seward, Nebraska, a lady was rather reproving 
me for not being a member of the W. C. T. U. In 
the course of the conversation I spoke of my sister, 
Mrs. Charlton of Omaha, being an active worker in 


164 


the temperance cause. “ Mrs. Charlton your sister ! She is 
a great worker, and it was a sad day for Omaha and 
the cause when she and her daughter left.” For the 
time being I might as well have been a whole W. C. 
T. U. for the interest she suddenly found in me. 1 have 
met three Oxford girls in Colorado, and the brother 
of another who said : “ The influence of your sister 
Ellen in Oxford will never disappear.” 

One neighbor in Del Norte said : “ Til come to see 
you if for nothing else to see your brother James’ picture ; 
he was the best teacher I ever had.” One of our Green- 
field men said : “ 1 taught in the school when James 

Gow was on the Board — or rather he was the Board ; and 
George is the best lawyer round these parts.” 

That is refreshing, Virginia ! That brings me to our 
tier. That fine lawyer has chased us with fishing worms. 
I feel gratified when I hear all this array of virtue and 
talent, even down to Loudon, say that they helped to 
“ raise ” me. “ Did I get too much raising to be illus- 
trious ? ” Then comes our dear brother-cousin with the 
same illustrious name. We were at a lecture a few 
evenings ago ; in front of us sat a Baptist minister 
from Maine. 1 remarked : “ I wonder if he knows 

cousin George Gow ? ” Sandie stepped forward and 


asked him. “ Oh yes,” he said “ and he is a fine man.” 
So you see if a person is small and young — it is hard 
to reach years of discretion in such a sized family if 
you are in the last tier — it is something to have “ brothers 
and sisters and cousins.” 

At the youthful age of twenty-three 1 was to be 
married. 1 wrote to Alex, of my engagement, but the 
idea that the baby, born two years after he was graduated 
from college, had grown to be a woman, seemed never to 
have entered his mind. For awhile he did not answer my 
letter, not wanting to encourage me in youthful folly, 

1 suppose, but remarked to some one else : “ that child 
get married ! ” Even last summer — he being sixty and 1 
forty — 1 think he thought it was presumptuous that “ that 
child ” should have as many boys as Mother. Presump- 
tuous or not 1 am glad the Gow element is still strong 
in my little flock, for as he met me at the depot, he 
turned away with tears in his eyes — bless his dear, soft 
heart — and came back to tell me that he had never seen 
the face of the little sister buried so many years ago 
till that day he saw her in my little John Murdoch. 

We younger ones, though we did not realize it at 
the time, had a peculiarly tender place in the family. Our 
first absence from home revealed it to us. We had 


i66 


never been away from home over night till we reached 
the ages of eight and ten or thereabout. We were tired 
of the monotony of life ; we rather thought, outside 
of dish washing, we were not appreciated, but little we 
knew. We had a chance at last to go to the country for 
a visit of two days. I remember the doubtful way 
Mother looked after us as we started. We reached 
the house where we were to visit about dark. Our 
spirits had weakened every mile of the three or four. We 
had not been there an hour before I missed Virginia. 
1 found her at the end of a long porch, and I knew 
from my own feelings what she was doing. I went 
up behind her with all my feelings in my throat. I 
saw two big tears fall with the rain drops — then there 
were two of us. The rain fell as though in sympathy 
with us, “ Jinnie ” turned around to me laughing through 
her tears and said : “Annie if I only could get home 
to-night I would be willing to wash dishes all the rest 
of my life.” “ So would I,” I said. We laughed at 
the idea and then cried; we went to sleep crying. The 
next morning they sent us home on a wagon loaded 
with bags of wheat, in the rain, after trying to persuade us 
to wait and go home in the carriage, in the evening. 
When we neared the town there was a reaction in our 


167 


minds; we began to consider that there might be two 
views in regard to our conduct, and what we should 
say when we got home. We asked the driver to let 
us out at the foot of the town, and walking slowly up 
the whole length of Main street, with our night gowns 
under our arms, we concluded to go to John’s office first to 
see how he would take it. We opened his door slowly 
and walked in. He looked up from his writing, 
and I think I can see the smile on his face yet, as 
he jumped down from his high seat and came to meet us 
and told us how glad he was that we had come home ; 
and though it was not quite noon he locked up the office 
and took us home. We went through Father’s office 
and he just beamed on us, called us the “ little girls ” and 
told us how they had missed us. John, still smiling, 
re-echoed his words, and then they both took us back to 
Mother where we had another reception. It was well 
worth the horrible night we had put through. This 
tenderness to us showed out in many ways from all — 
from our dear Father of whom I have always regretted I 
knew so little except as a child, down to dear brother 
Loudon, who resembles him so much. And here I wish I 
could tell them how much I appreciate that tenderness 
manifested in works when we children were to be educated. 


i68 


Father beings sick and the times hard on account of the 
war, Ellen and Mary and John and Loudon came to 
the rescue. Of the extent of the help 1 never knew 
till I had been married fifteen years. This quietness was a 
part of the deep love that has characterized our family 
all through. That the love may grow stronger with 
the years, and that Father’s most frequent prayer : “ that 
God would remember all the branches of our family 
graciously in the day when he makes up his jewels,” 
is the prayer of this “ child.” 

Pueblo, Colorado, 1888. 


••••( 




169 


BY VIRGINIA MURDOCH GOW. 


‘ But were another childhood-world my share, 
I would be born a little sister there.” 


I think I should best enjoy giving some of my early 
recollections of Father and Mother. Looking back I 
see that as a child my impressions of them were very 
clear and correct; years have not changed but only 
deepened them. 1 was very much of a child when 
Father died, and, although my sixteenth birthday came 
the day before he died, my relations to him were still 
those of a child. Father’s influence over the children 
of my time, Loudon, Annie and myself, was very strong ; 
not so much by reason of any direct exercise of it, as 
indirectly by reason of what he was ; and also of Mother’s 
character and methods, for our love and reverence for 
Father were largely due to Mother. With another kind of 
mother I think we might have failed to get the benefit of 
Father’s influence, for Father was reserved and little 
given to discipline, giving it almost entirely into the 
hands of Mother, and in my time at least, she did the 


70 


actual training of the children. But she made good 
use of Father in this, that she cultivated in us a great 
sensitiveness, unmixed with fear, to his approval or 
disapproval. How many times have 1 heard her say, 
“ 1 would be sorry to tell Father,” or, “ I would be very 
sorry to have Father see you do this or that.” To have 
his disapprobation was the worst that could happen 
to us, for his discipline was very mild. When we were too 
noisy in the sitting-room, he would open the office 
door and say to Mother : “ Cannot the children be more 

quiet ? ” He disliked to reprove us, and this fact made us 
regard his wishes the more. His most severe discipline 
was to point to a chair and say : “Sit there until I tell 
you you may go.” This command was apt to come 
on Sunday to Loudon, Annie and myself, and was 
quite a trial and mortification. Often we would whisper to 
Mother to ask Father if we might go, or, if a welcome 
interruption of attention would occur, we would steal 
quietly away from our chairs. 1 remember once a very 
opportune smoke in the cellar that had to be investigated ; 
and we three, with very conscious glances at each other, 
brought up the rear of the procession, but did not go back 
to our chairs after the investigation. But 1 never remem- 
ber Father raising his voice or speaking angrily to us. 

171 


To illustrate my sensitiveness to Father’s approval, 
I remember once Father and Mother were talking of 
a family in which there had been very poor success 
with the children, at this time grown to be men and 
women. Father said with tears in his eyes, something 
like this: “We have great cause of thankfulness in our 
children. Mother.” I was very young, not more than 
twelve years old, but 1 had had a recent conversion, known 
only to myself, on the subject of lying. At this distance 
of time 1 know that my lying was of a very mild variety, 
and of rare occurrence. I did not then know that there are 
differences in kind, and temptation had not yet come to 
me in the form that most usually attacks the grown-up- 
world — the telling of lies to myself. 1 do not know that 
the family ever discovered that 1 was not truthful. 1 was 
very truthful with myself about it, and had suffered 
dreadfully over it. My relation to God with regard to it 
became very clear to me, and 1 was keeping myself under 
very rigid discipline as to telling the truth. When Father 
made the remark to Mother which 1 have just quoted, 1 
was again overwhelmed, and thought to myself : “ Oh, 
Father, if you only knew how many lies 1 have told ! ” 
A large part of my prayers— my real prayers that 1 said 
on my feet — was that 1 might be worthy of the approval 


172 


of Father and Mother. I was a favored child in this, 
that 1 derived my best and most enduring ideas of God 
from the character and lives of Father and Mother. 1 
early perceived that the guiding principle of their lives was 
love of righteousness from love of God, and from a desire 
for their approval it was only a step, an awakening, to the 
feeling that 1 must have the approval of God ; the one 
feeling was involved in the other so that we could 
scarcely have loved our parents without loving God. 

As children I think the lessons emphasized in our 
training — 1 do not remember special teaching — might 
be summed up easily in very few words : a sense of 
responsibility with regard to our duties, and submission to 
the authority of our parents, teachers and elders. If any 
child of us had trouble with a teacher that child would be 
very slow to complain unless very sure of the justness 
of his cause. Not only would our conduct be called 
in question, but our motives and the very expression 
of our faces. We knew our very souls would be looked 
into by our parents. Unless the contrary could be 
shown, our teachers and elders were considered better 
authority than we. As men and women we have, I 
think, been a trial and mystery to many of our friends, as 
our Father and Mother were before us. It was a little 


173 


hard to understand how a family so submissive to 
authority, so loyal to the thing in hand were so little 
bound to anything, simply because with others it was 
the accepted thing, or the pleasant thing, the method or the 
style. 1 realized in some measure even as a child that Father 
and Mother were always looking for the better way — the 
better thing — the higher authority, and were eager and will- 
ing to walk in this better way, even when it gave them 
great pain. They asked of their children only what 
they asked of themselves — the best effort in the daily 
task, and a submission to the highest authority. 

Father once asked me if I ever read Shakespeare. 
Now I enjoyed Shakespeare as 1 listened to Father reading 
to Mother in the evening, but I did not enjoy reading 
it myself, so 1 said : “ No,” and added apologetically 
” 1 do not like dialogues.” He must have been amused, 
but I felt very badly about it, and felt I must like to 
read Shakespeare. I shall never forget my happiness 
in learning to read. If I had a little girl I myself would 
teach her to read by the old method, with a roast beef 
skewer for a pointer. It stirs my blood to see one 
of those skewers now. The best of my education I 
got at that time — a good, happy start in reading and 
a love for it that I never lost. This was Mother’s work. 


174 


y- . 


for she taught me to read. I followed her round at 
her work, or sat by her side with my book, as she 
sewed, and was a very happy four-year-old with my 
Mother. 

As a child 1 never liked school. When a little child 
1 was homesick at school, and would have to console 
myself by saying, “ I will go home to Mother.’' School 
drill and methods were very tiresome to" me, and 

Mother very wisely, as 1 think, allowed me to go or 

stay at home as my wish led me. 1 think she trusted 
to my surroundings and the help of the older ones, that 1 
would be ready for the later school when the time 

should come. And just here may I say that my dear 
sister Mary who has the true teacher’s gift, gave me 

my best knowledge of grammar, making the study so 
easy, so beautiful, for Annie and myself, teaching us 
with the aid of her “ dear old Kirkham,” an old book 
at that time out of date in the schools. She was very 
patient with us when we stopped to play,” which I 
remember we did very often. 

And can my dear brother Loudon ever know how 
greatly he lightened life for me, when he made clear 
to me the mysteries of those dreadful foxes and hounds, 
poles, cisterns, and shadows of mental arithmetic! I 


75 


used to take my book to the cow-yard, and he would help 
me while milking, and, measuring distances on the 
ground would use sticks and stones to make it plain 
to me. He was so gentle, so happy to make it clear, 
never thought me slow, and never left the matter until he 
was sure 1 had it. He only thought of helping me, and 1 
of being helped by a dear brother ; neither of us thought 
of the happy recollection that was to be mine forever. 

As a little child the days and weeks at home with 
Mother, the other children being at school, were a long 
happiness. Then, too, 1 enjoyed the society of Mrs. 
Gregg, our life-long neighbor who was very good to 
me, and of whom 1 was very fond. Alex. Murdoch, 
too, my gentle cousin and playmate, whom 1 loved, made 
a part of my early joy in living. But Mother was 
my dearest friend. 1 was much more fond of her society 
than that of those two whirlwinds, Loudon and Annie. 
Saturday they were at home all day, and were rather 
the despair of Mother and myself, as they were naturally 
very gay, and learned many things at school not included 
in books. Rainy Saturdays, when they took possession of 
the house. Mother would say of me, partly, 1 suppose, 
to make me an object of emulation, “ I am glad 1 have 
one good child.” Then those lively ones would make it 


176 


lively for me, and much as it gratified me to have 

approval from Mother, it did not altogether compensate 
me. It was dreadful to have them say in satirical tone, “ I 
am glad I have one good child.” However, on the whole, 
I admired them very much, and, when a little older and 
bigger, could be quite as gay as they. I remember 
Mother often talked to me as she would have talked to an 
older person. She told me, I rememl er, the story 

of the decline and death of her young brother, Matthew. 
It made a deep impression on my mind, and Mother’s 
grief in telling the story made quite as deep impression 
as the story. 

Mother never lost her enjoyment of a child’s play- 
house. One spring day, when we came home from 

school, she said to Annie and myself: “Go look in 
the closet in the entry.” She had made us a lovely 
play-house, with pictures pasted on the walls and a 
cupboard with Mary’s dishes in it, the dishes that we 
all knew, Jim’s gift when a boy to Mary and Eliza. 
Annie will remember the very fine one she made us in the 
carriage-house. She had much more invention than 

we. Nobody made such loveable, big, rag babies as 
she. The later grandchildren will testify to this. 1 
remember well the big round eyes of one of the little 


177 


nieces as she came to announce a discovery, with the 
proof of her discovery in her hand. “Dolly Grinder” 
had “ feather blood.” Perhaps it was this feather blood 
that made babies of so soft and warm a nature as to 
develope the maternal instinct in the little girls, and 
something very much akin to it even in the little boys. I 
was once sitting with one of these dolls in my arms 
in the dining-room window, while the rest of the 
family still sat at dinner. Suddenly I tumbled in and 
the baby tumbled out. I cried out “ Oh my baby ! my 
baby ! ” 1 was very much surprised that the family 

laughed. Mother was fond of giving us little surprises. 
How often on market morning have 1 been wakened 
by having a piece of fruit put in my hand, and, opening 
my eyes found Mother smiling at myself and Annie, 
my dear twin and bed-mate. 

My earliest recollection of Father is associated with 
a habit that we all remember. When the family would 
be out round the front door on the summer evenings, 
he would sit in the sitting-room in the twilight with 
his violin. In the first summer in my remembrance 
I, as a sleepy child, would be sent by Mother to Father, 
and he would put down his violin, take me in his 
arms and softly sing me to sleep. As a child I was 


178 


with Father a great deal, and, indeed, in some ways, 
I felt myself quite necessary to him. I shared with 
Annie the task of reading the Bible before breakfast, 
in winter, that Father might study “shorthand.” He 
took down the whole Bible in this way. In the summer 
mornings before breakfast he worked at his tool-bench, 
and wanted a child at hand constantly. 1 learned to 
turn the grindstone with just the right speed and motion, 
and was very anxious to do everything perfectly for 
Father. 1 never felt as a child that either Father or 
Mother employed me for the purpose of teaching or amus- 
ing me. I rather felt there was work to be done and 
1 must do my share of it. To my mind this was one 
of the strong points of their training ; their interests 
were ours, the family interest was the interest of all. As 
a little child I felt 1 could not drop out, and, if I should, 
decided lameness of the whole body would follow. 

1 was never paid for any work 1 did ; it was not their 
custom. We were all paid for learning the catechism 
and other things, 1 and perhaps others for learning Grey’s 
Elegy of which Father was fond, — Miss Mary Gregg 
helped me by learning it with me, — but all work was 
done for love. 

As I worked with Father he rarely talked with me 


179 


except as the work required, and then always g’ently. He 
made me very happy many times by saying he could 
not work without me. 1 remember the last day he 
worked with his tools. He was too feeble and he 
laid them down, saying to Mother : “1 shall never work 
again.” 1 shall never forget the expression of Mother’s 
face ; it is still clearly before me. 

Father and Mother had great power to carry their 
children’s sympathies with them in their work, but 1 do not 
think it was accomplished by any conscious theory 
or principle. The years of Father’s sickness were a time 
of happiness and education to me. It was like Father and 
Mother to tell us, even “the children,” that his sickness 
was incurable, and we all shared in the care of him. 
During the first part of his sickness he had very severe 
trouble with his eyes. 1 was then about twelve years 
old, and it became one of my duties to read the Pittsburg 
daily newspapers to him. It was during the war, and 
1 was very much interested and eager to learn, but 1 
understood very little of the editorial matter which I 
was reading, and 1 used to wonder if Father knew 
how little. Of course he did, but my mechanical style of 
reading must have been at least satisfactory, for he 
seldom found any fault with me. I was very anxious to 


understand for his sake. 1 wrote at his dictation articles 
for “ The Reporter,” and the punctuation troubled me 
very much, but 1 never said so to him as 1 did not want 
him to think it was hard for me. It was good education 
for me in many ways just to be with him, and I suppose 
he little thought how closely 1 was observing him, and 
what an impression everything he said made upon me. 
As I was not to know him as a woman, I am thankful for 
my experience as a child. 

As a child I loved Mother, and as a woman 1 have 
recognized in her those qualities which were pre-eminently 
her own — patient endurance, and an unconscious unselfish- 
ness that 1 have scarcely seen equaled. Her endurance was 
such that 1 think her bodily strength was greatly over- 
estimated. I have read a letter recently, from Father 
to aunt Lucy Lincoln, written after the death of the 
second Eliza, in which he speaks of this sustaining quality 
of mind. As children we used to say that Mother 
never slept. 1 have often wakened in the night to 
find her standing by the bed, brought there, I suppose, 
by our restlessness, and, half asleep, would wonder 
why she came. Father used to say she was counting 
her brood. Indeed, in many respects, he was one of 
them. When Mother was away he was as disconsolate as 

i8i 


a child. He would come into the sitting-room and 
say : “ Where is Mother ? ” Often she would answer 

from a distance, “Here I am Father, what is it? ’’ And 
he would answer: “Nothing, 1 just want to know 
you are here.” 1 do not know that it was a matter 
of principle with her, but it was a rare thing for her 
to be away when the children came home from school, 
or at^ such times as the family were gathered in. We 
were always sure of her presence, and that made home. 
She sits very quietly now, active only in mind, interested 
and happy in the present, but living much in the past. 
When the far-away look in her eyes has called out the 
question : “ What are you thinking of, iVlother ? ” how 
many times has come the answer : “ 1 am thinking of my 
children.” As I think of her so quietly waiting, so ready 
in mind for the last change that will mean so much to us, her 
children, my mind turns to Bunyan’s “ land of Beulah,” 
where the pilgrims waited before crossing the river, and to 
the Christiana of his vision, and I take the book and read : 
“ After this 1 beheld until they were come into the land of 
Beulah, where the sun shineth night and day. Here, 
because they were weary, they took themselves awhile to 
rest. And because this country was common for pilgrims, 
and because the orchards and vineyards that were here 


182 


belonged to the King of the Celestial country, therefore 
they were licensed to make bold with any of his things. 
In this place the children of the town would go into the 
King’s gardens, and gather nosegays for the pilgrims and 
bring them to them with much affection. Here also grew 
camphire, with spikenard and saffron, calamus, and cinna- 
mon, with all the trees of frankincense, myrrh and aloes, 
with all chief spices ! With these the pilgrims’ chambers 
were perfumed while they stayed here, and with these 
were their bodies annointed to prepare them to go over the 
river when the time appointed was come. 

“Now while they lay here and waited for the good 
hour, there was a noise in the town that there was a post 
come from the Celestial City, with matter of great im- 
portance to one Christiana, the wife of Christian, the pil- 
grim. So inquiry was made for her, the house was found 
out where she was. So the post presented her with a 
letter. The contents were : Hail ! good woman ; I bring 
the tidings that the Master calleth for thee, and expects 
thee, that thou shouldst stand in his presence in robes of 
immortality within these ten days. 

“ When Christiana saw that her time was come, and 
that she was the first of the company to go over, she called 
for Mr. Great- Heart, her guide, and told him how matters 


183 


were. So he told her he was heartily glad of the news, 
and could have been glad had the post come for him. 
Then she bid him that he would give advice how all things 
should be prepared for her journey. So he told her say- 
ing, ‘ Thus and thus it must be ; and we that survive will 
accompany you to the river side.’ 

“ Then she called for her children and gave them her 
blessing, and told them she had read with comfort the 
mark that was set in their foreheads, and' was glad to see 
them with her there and that they had kept their garments 
so white. Lastly she bequeathed to the poor that little she 
had, and commanded her sons and daughters to be ready 
against the messenger should come for them. 

“ Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone. 
So the road was full of people to see her take her journey. 
But behold all the banks beyond the river were full of 
horses and chariots which were come down from above to 
accompany her to the city gate. So she came forth and 
entered the river with a beckon of farewell to those that 
followed her. The last words that she was heard to say 
were, ‘ 1 come. Lord, to be with Thee,’ and bless Thee ! So 
her children and friends returned to their places, for those 
that waited for Christiana had carried her out of their sight. 
So she went and called, and entered in at the gate with all 


184 


the ceremonies of joy that her husband Christian had 
entered with before her. At her departure the children 
wept, but Mr. Great- Heart and Mr. Valiant played upon 
the well-tuned cymbal and harp for joy.” 


••••I 




185 


BY GEORGE BOARDMAN GOW. 


“ Tears are the showers that fertilize this world, 

And memory of things precious keepeth warm 
The heart that once did hold them.” 

Though only a son-in-law I am permitted to write 
a chapter — a kind of appendix — for this “ Family Me- 
morial.” The reasons for granting me this exceptional 
privilege may appear in what 1 shall write. 1 have 
sat beside “ Aunt Ellen ” while she has been engaged 
in her labor of love upon the precious volume, assisting 
her also in carrying it through the press; and have 
watched its growth with the sincerest interest, and an 
esteem and affection for the Father and Mother honored 
therein, not unworthy, I trust, of an own son. 

In the sketch of the three grandfathers which introduces 
our “ recollections,” mention is made of grandfather 
Gow’s son Eliphalet. That son, my father, the oldest 
child of Abigail Sayward, went at twenty years of 
age to Waterville, Maine, a village on the Kennebec river, 
twenty miles above Hallowell, his native place, and 
there began life as a tin-plate worker. He had been 


i86 


apprenticed under the old system to General Ladd, a 
friend of his father, to learn his trade and to serve 
until he should become of age. It was necessary, there- 
fore, that he should be released from the contract of 
his apprenticeship for the last year of its term, for 
which release he paid one hundred dollars. 

The son of a deacon, he married a deacon’s daughter, 
Miss Serena M. Russell, of whom I can trust myself only 
to say that he could hardly have selected a more devout 
Christian, or a wiser woman, to make with him a 
strong and happy home. In Dea. Russell’s family he 
found for himself a home, from which, by reason of 
the early failure of his health, he never went forth. 
Into this household he brought the sacred traditions 
of his own ancestral life. The name of Dea. James Gow 
was profoundly revered by all who ever heard my 
father speak of him, and my mother through her long 
widowhood cherished the flame of grandfather Gow’s 
memory along with that of my father. 

I have but little remembrance of grandfather Gow, as 
my father died when I was five years and six months old, 
and grandfather’s death occurred but four years later. 
But I remember one visit in particular which he paid 
us at Waterville after my father’s death. It was a great 


187 


delight to Dea. Russell to welcome Dea. Gow to his home. 
1 recall the sight, quite a wonder to me, of grandfather 
Gow sitting in the old arm-chair by the “Franklin” 
fire-place in the sitting-room, under the mantel on 
which stood the clock that still hangs, an heirloom, in my 
own home. That place and that rocking-chair were 
sacred to grandfather Russell. Nobody thought for a 
moment of occupying them even in grandfather’s absence. 
It was, therefore, very significant of reverence and 
love when they were given up to Dea. Gow as to a 
more worthy man. Perhaps the scene was impressed 
more vividly upon my mind by the fact that on that 
visit, sitting in that chair, grandfather Gow, always kind 
to me, made me the offer of a jack-knife — gift of 
transcendent value to a boy — upon condition that 1 
would commit to memory the sixth chapter of the 
Epistle to the Ephesians, beginning : “ Children obey your 
parents in the Lord.” 

I frequently visited the old homestead in Hallowell. It 
was situated very near the summit of the long range 
of high, steep hills on which the town was built. The 
view from it up and down the river was of surpassing 
beauty. Augusta, the capital of the State, two miles 
above Hallowell, was the head of navigation. Gardner, 


i88 


four miles below, was a still more thriving town. On 
the smooth surface of the broad river floated the many 
shapes of river craft, with the great wonder of the region, 
the Boston Boat, plying twice a week between the 
river towns and the New England metropolis. This 
was the scene in which our fathers, John and Eliphalet, 
were reared; broad, varied, intensely active with the 
free thought and untrammeled energy of early New England 
life. They left their beautiful birth-place at an early 
age to build homes elsewhere for themselves, but the 
traditions of love, liberty and law which they took 
with them were our precious heritage. 

An incident in the Hallowell life of grandfather Gow 
has come down to me, which will illustrate the character of 
the man, and indicate, perhaps, the origin of some traits of 
character that have appeared in his descendants. On 
a certain Fourth of July the free spirits of the town 
proposed to celebrate the day after the manner of the 
time with marching to and fro, an oration, a banquet 
and after-dinner speeches. It was very much desired 
that Dea. Gow should be present at the dinner. But the 
probability that the “ flowing bowl ” would give to the 
occasion too much of the character of a carousal, made 
him unwilling to accept the invitation tendered him. He 


189 


was, however, assured that no liquor would be provided at 
the table and finally consented to be present. But in 
spite of the promise his worst fears were realized. In 
a room crowded with tables and guests he was seated 
at the head of a table, and as far as possible from the 
door, to which, after the tables were filled, there was 
no passage way left him. Here he sat, grave and patient 
though annoyed, until the excited guests began in reckless 
gaiety to smash their glasses. Then, feeling himself 
released from the obligations of good breeding which 
would otherwise have bound him, he rose and walked 
upon the table itself to the door. A teetotaller himself, he 
was the father of three generations of teetotallers, whose 
influence for temperance in all things has been felt in 
widely separated localities, from Maine to California — 
generations with rare unanimity true to the best in 
their intellectual and spiritual inheritance. 

“ Uncle John” had gone to the far West, as the region 
beyond the Alleghanies then seemed, so that during 
my early childhood I saw nothing of him and his family. 
But at one point there occurred a brief connection, 
the memory of which is very sweet to me. My father 
applied himself to business with an assiduity and skill that 
rapidly won success. But scarcely had he become 


the leading hardware merchant of a whole county when 
his health began to fail. In the autumn before his 
death, by the advice of his physicians, he sought relief in 
a sea voyage and a winter to be spent in the South. 
He went by sailing vessel to Pensacola, Florida. But 
it was too late for his recovery. Tuberculosis was too 
deeply seated upon his lungs for recovery, and, imme- 
diately after arriving in Pensacola, he began his long, 
wearisome journey home to die. He came by way 
of New Orleans and the great rivers to Wheeling, Virginia, 
finding ice in the Ohio at the latter point, through 
which the steamer with difficulty made her way to the 
dock. From Wheeling he came to Washington, Penn- 
sylvania, where his brother John was living. Here 
he found a genuinely brotherly welcome, and that 
rest for his exhausted body which he had not known 
since he left his own home. How long he remained 
here I do not remember, but long enough, certainly, for 
his visit to become a delightful tradition in both families. 
Cousin Alex, was then a child of nine years, . and it 
was his privilege to come each morning into the sick 
man’s chamber, the best room in the house, and build 
a fire for him before he arose. The story of the careful 
ministries of uncle John, aunt Mary and their children 


191 


to this gentle, patient sufferer was one of the legacies 
of my father to me, carefully kept in my mind by 
my mother, who as yet had seen none of the Washing- 
ton family. 

My father died in the following July. From that 
time 1 heard little from uncle John’s family — and that 
little chiefly through aunt Lucy Lincoln, my father’s 
younger sister, who, with her family occupied the old 
homestead at Hallowell — until years later, when uncle 
John and his two older children visited Maine. That 
visit was an important era in my life. It was the be- 
ginning of my real acquaintance with my father’s family, 
and of some of the dearest friendships of my life. The 
double occasion of the visit was the appointment of 
uncle John by President Taylor as a visitor to West 
Point, and a wedding trip for his oldest daughter, 
Lucy, then recently married to Mr. James B. Charlton. 
The bridal party consisted of uncle John himself, his 
oldest son Alex., then a young man of twenty-one, 
just out of college, and Mr. Charlton with his newly- 
married bride. Their principal stay was at Hallowell with 
the Lincolns, but during their sojourn in the State 
they visited Waterville. A little stern-wheel steamer 
then plied between Waterville and Hallowell in summer- 


192 


time, going down the river in the morning and returning 
in the afternoon. The party came up one afternoon, 
spent the following day with us and returned the third 
day. In addition to his own children, uncle John brought 
with him on the trip to Waterville, two others, his sister 
Lucy’s oldest daughter, Mary Lincoln, and his sister Pame- 
lia’s oldest daughter, Lucy Robinson, whose mother had 
died four years earlier. Was not that a grand party of 
relatives to visit a lone boy and his widowed mother ? 
And did not the impressible youth of seventeen summers 
fall in love with those relatives A love, it was, that 
never faltered and never changed, except to grow stronger 
with passing years. I remember the dignified bearing of 
uncle John, and with what exaltation of spirit I introduced 
him. Professor John L. Gow of Washington College, to 
the Rev. Dr. David N. Sheldon, president of Waterville 
College, of which latter institution I was a proud sopho- 
more. It was on the walk in front of the chapel that 1 
introduced my distinguished guest to President Sheldon. 
Were we not three distinguished persons together ? And 
what more natural, seeing that 1 had brought these gentle- 
men together, than that, as we walked on, 1 should take 
my place in the middle, between them ? But I was soon 
reminded that, although a sophomore and nephew of a 


193 


college professor, 1 had some things yet to learn. The 
reminder came in the shape of an action quite character- 
istic of uncle John. Putting his hands on my shoulders in 
a fatherly way he set me one side and took his proper 
place by the gentleman with whom he wished to converse. 
1 do not remember the subject of their conversation, but I 
do remember distinctly the lesson of modesty and manners 
which 1 had been taught. 1 am too much of an optimist 
to lament anything that comes to man in the providence 
of an infinitely wise and good God, but 1 can appreciate 
the value to a young man of the daily discipline in a home 
at the head of which stands such a man as was there 
revealed to me. 

On the return of the party to Hallowell I was invited to 
accompany them to remain for a few days. I had never 
known anything in my life so delightful as that visit, and 
scarcely anything since has given me purer joy. The 
young bride of the party for some reason was exceedingly 
kind to her newly-found, down-east cousin. To her 
warmth of cousinly kindness he responded with all the 
ardor of youth; and with an affection as pure as it 
was ardent, that to this day has never cooled, though he 
has not seen her since. She was a brilliant brunette, with 
a sparkling eye and a ready wit, a bride at nineteen, and as 


194 


mature and womanly in thought as she was vivacious in 
manner. She must have seen clearly what happiness she 
was bestowing upon her undeveloped and surprised cousin, 
and have found a genuine pleasure in the exercise toward 
him of a kindly charity natural to her. She was a good 
singer and could sing a ballad with marked etfect, needing 
no instrument to give tone to her voice or hold it in place. 

But there was, as I have said, another Lucy in the party, 
the oldest daughter of aunt Pamelia’s family, about a year 
younger than myself. A little timid and perfectly simple 
in manner, acutely sensitive, but gentle and generous, 
beautiful as a rose to look upon, tall and graceful, she was 
to me an astonishment and a glory. Already her phenom- 
enal voice, so sweet yet strong, so full of pathos, pure and 
even in tone, without a break or a weak spot in a compass 
of more than two full octaves, was even then showing its 
rare power. In what a delirium of youthful joy I spent 
the days of that visit ! On the little steamer “ Water 
Witch,” as we rode down the river these two Lucys enter- 
tained us with song, each so delightfully in her own way. 
There were two young men in the company, cousin Alex, 
and Mr. Charlton, the bridegroom, but I do not remember 
that they said or did anything. Uncle John was on board, 
of course, but I do not remember his presence. Those two 


195 


cousins were the lig'ht of the occasion for me, to which the 
sunshine of that summer day was tut a suitable accompa- 
niment. At Augusta we left the boat and visited the public 
buildings of the capital, walking from the State House to 
Hallowell. Mrs. Charlton, whose recollections are included 
in this volume, 1 have never seen since that visit. With 
Lucy Robinson, afterwards Mrs. Benjamin Whitmore, 1 
renewed my acquaintance a few years later, when she 
visited us again in Waterville, and maintained it with 
growing intimacy until her death, September 4, i860. 

Another long interval occurred before my acquaintance 
with the Washington family was renewed. Uncle John 
had died, 1 had entered the ministry and was a pastor 
in Worcester, Massachusetts. Miss Ellen Gow, who 
had been for ten years a teacher in the Western Female 
Seminary at Oxford, Ohio, was resting in convalescence 
after a serious illness, at Dansville, New York. There also 
a member of my own congregation was resting, and 
through her a correspondence began between cousin Ellen 
and myself. A year later 1 visited Washington, receiving 
as warm a greeting from the family as did my honored 
father thirty-seven years before. The two older sons of 
the family, Alex, and James, were married and settled in 
the West. The youngest son, George Loudon, unmarried. 


196 


was also in the West. John Loudon, the third son, heir 
to his father’s name and fame, was married and practicing 
law in Washington, Mrs. Charlton, the cousin whom I 
had learned to adore by the flashing waters of Ticonic 
Falls, was settled in Illinois. Annie, the seventh of the 
daughters, had recently married a Presbyterian divine, 
and with him gone to a field of labor beyond the Missis- 
sippi. Minnie, the sixth daughter, had married a young 
lawyer, Mr. Marcus C. Acheson, and was settled in Wash- 
ington, Ellen, at home again from the sanitarium, and 
Mary and Virginia were unmarried daughters, living with 
their mother in the “ second house,” the last homestead of 
the family. Here I feasted on the fat things of the earth, 
I do not refer to the food set before me at table — 1 have 
no remembrance whatever of that— but to the intellectual 
and spiritual fellowship of those days. Then and there 
“ Cousin ” was established as a member of the family. 
We talked of the past, bringing into the vivid light of 
sympathetic memory things that were growing dim, and 
setting in still stronger light things that could never fade. 
We walked in the garden, which the very hands that wel- 
comed me had made, and upon which eyes had fondly 
looked no longer conversant with things of sense. We 
sat by day upon the ice-house steps and regulated the 


197 


world, or, in the twilight, within the broad hall of the old 
mansion, telling our several tales of life, and recounting 
the virtues of the absent ones. With cousin John I 
tramped over the hills, studied the flora of the country, 
visited the lime kilns and coal mines, and examined the 
yellow water of Chartiers creek. Together on one occa- 
sion we all made holiday in “ Major’s woods,” a day 
never to be forgotten. Together in the evenings we gath- 
ered about the piano and sang, cousin Mary, the music 
teacher of the family, playing the instrument. Here I 
learned more than 1 had before known of my father and 
his visit to Washington, especially from aunt Mary’s lips. 
She told me also of the sojourn in Washington of uncle 
Joseph Gow, my father’s full brother, the youngest son of 
Dea. James Gow, who died at Edgartown, Martha’s Vine- 
yard, Massachusetts, in the year 1861. I had always 
loved and admired uncle Joseph. Though somewhat 
erratic in early life, he was a brilliant man, of noble 
instincts. I first knew him when he visited us of the 
Waterville family after his return from a whaling voyage. 
1 was then a child of eight or nine years. He sang finely, 
playing an accompaniment to his voice on his “ single bass 
viol.” Between his music and his stories of whale fishing 
and sailor life he created in my heart an admiration for 


198 


him akin to that of Desdemona for the Moor. But he 
was no Moor in looks ; on the contrary he was a tall and 
handsome man, of fine manners and manly bearing. He 
caused his father and his brothers, John and Eliphalet, 
much anxiety by his incontrollable spirits. At one time 
he had been a student in the college at Waterville, under 
my father’s care, but before my remembrance, and later 
in the college at Washington under the care of his brother 
John ; in each case an admiration for his talents and a 
sorrow for his undisciplined habits. But as he reached 
middle life the better man born in him developed, and the 
prayers of a whole house were answered. In his most 
wayward days he had been a very successful teacher, a 
master whom the roughest of country boys did not a 
second time defy. At length he married a strong and 
noble woman, who still survives him, and, settling at Ed- 
gartown as a teacher, becoming also a local preacher of the 
Methodist Episcopal church, left behind him a sweet and 
honored memory. 

Here, too, in this, my first visit to Washington, six 
years after uncle John’s death, I learned from many 
citizens to whom I was introduced, what a place he 
had held in that old college town. No man could have 
been more highly esteemed, or more affectionately remem - 


199 


be red than he was as a public teacher, a lawyer, and 
a Christian gentleman. More then ever a sense of my 
own loss took hold of me, that I had not known him 
in my maturer years, and when a more intimate ac- 
quaintance with him would have been of incalculable value 
to me. It was a matter of great interest to me to find 
that he had been so eminently successful as a teacher 
of law students. He was not only qualified for this 
honorable service by his legal learning, but he was 
“ apt to teach ” by reason of his- great personal interest 
in the young men who entered his office. 

But my delightful sojourn came at length to an end. 
1 returned to my home in Worcester to find my mother 
stricken with paralysis, of which in a few days she died. 
Two years later the mother of my boys entered into 
rest, after an almost spotless life of Christian faith 
and devotion to holy duties. How rapidly the march 
of events in our changing life went on! In August 
of that year, 1875, cousin Ellen was elected Professor 
of Mental and Moral Philosophy in the newly -founded 
college of Mr. Durant, at Wellesley, Massachusetts. 
On her way to Wellesley she visited me at my home 
in Millbury, Massachusetts. In the following October 
aunt Mary and cousins Mary and Virginia came from 


200 


Washington to spend the winter with me and renew 
for me in some measure my home life. In the 
following June the Wellesley professor became the pastor’s 
wife, and aunt Mary and the cousins— now sisters— Mary 
and Virginia returned to the old home in Washington. 
Five years later sister Virginia came to us, then living 
at Brattleboro, Vermont, to remain with us, where 
she is to this day, a member of our household, as dear to 
us as if she were our own child. 

It was during the family life at Millbury, that I 
came most intimately to know our dear Mother. There 
in the daily intercourse of family life, I learned to ap- 
preciate what seem to me to be her chief excellences, 
a certain matter-of-fact, good sense about all practical 
affairs and, underlying that good sense, and largely 
its source, a profound, all-controlling devotion to duty. 
This devotion was not sentimental, not vague and 
rhetorical, but an ever-present sense of all the things 
that must be done, and how and at what moment 
they must be done, entirely apart from any question 
whether the doing would be agreeable to the senses. 
To the thing to be done she went directly, brushing aside, 
as a matter of necessity, whatever obstacles might lie in the 
way, a method not always agreeable to the dreamers who 


201 


might be sunning themselves on banks of thyme in 
her path, but very useful for the business of life. It was a 
bold thing for her and her daughters to close their old 
home and go to this distant relative — only half a cousin to 
her children— her husband’s half-brother’s child, and 
whom she had known only in the poetic light of a 
cousinly visit and some fervid correspondenee. But there 
seemed to be need of her. Eliphalet’s son was in sorrow 
and alone. God only knows what her coming was worth 
to that vexed and troubled man. She saw a need, and by 
the same resoluteness which could send her on this mission 
of helpfulness, she knew that she could take her own and 
return with them when it should seem best. The good 
sense that made the experiment possible made it also safe. 
But, though able in this strength of her mature woman- 
hood to take on the care of another son, she did not forget 
the care of all the households of her own immediate family. 

I remember seeing her one day, as she stood by the win- 
dow of my study, looking out over the valley of the 
Blackstone as it stretched for miles away before her, with 
its smoke-stacks and villas, yet evidently seeing nothing of 
the busy scene. 1 asked her of what she was thinking. 
Recovering the consciousness of her surroundings, she 
turned away with a softened, almost tearful answer, which 


202 


told that her thoughts were in the distant homes where 
four sons and as many daughters were fighting the battle 
of life — in some cases contending literally with the enemies 
of social peace and order at the risk of all earthly prosperity. 
She lacked none of the profounder sensibilities that make 
life beautiful, but her great superiority was in the heroic 
virtues that make life strong and truly blessed. 

Dear Mother! I count myself most happy to have 
known her, and to regard myself as her son. 1 think of 
her as she sits by the window in sister Minnie’s home, 
with a reverence and affection not less than I bear for my 
own dear mother. I thank her too, that, to me, who 
grew up without sisters and brothers, she has given, in 
these later years of greater need, such a family circle of 
brothers and sisters, with sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law, 
of whom I am indeed unworthy, but for whom, with their 
children, I feel so strong a household love. May God 
bless and long spare to us the Mother of us all ! 

Glens Falls, N. Y., 1891. 


203 


“ They are poor 

That have lost nothing; they are poorer far 
Who, losing, have forgotten ; they most poor 
Of all who lose and wish they might forget. 

For life is one, and in its warp and woof 
There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair, 

And in the pattern shows most sweet 
Where there are sombre colors. It is true 
That we have wept. But O ! this thread of gold. 
We would not have it tarnish; let us turn 
Oft and look hack upon the wondrous web. 

And when it shineth sometimes we shall know 
That memory is possession.” 




204 


Troceedings of the PVasbington Coimtv Har. 


At a meeting of the Bar and officers of the Court, con- 
vened at the Court- room on Saturday morning, August 
18, 1866, to take action relative to the death of John L. 
Gow, Esq. ; on motion of A. W. Acheson, Esq., Joseph 
Henderson, Esq., was called to the chair, and Freeman 
Brady, Jr., was appointed Secretary. The object of the 
meeting having been stated by the Chair, on motion of 
James Watson, Esq., A. W. Acheson, Wm. McKennan 
and Geo. S. Hart, Esqrs., were appointed a Committee to 
draft resolutions expressive of the sentiments of the meet- 
ing. 

After the appointment of the Committee on Resolutions 
Alexander Wilson, Esq., spoke as follows : 

Mr. Chairman : — Perhaps it would be more appropriate 
that the remarks on this occasion should be made by the 
older members of the Bar, who have been long associated 
with the deceased, and can, therefore, speak from per- 
sonal knowledge of his professional worth and ability. 
When 1 came to the Bar the name of John L. Gow was 
beginning to be associated with the old lawyers who had 
passed away — with Baird, and McGiffin, and McKennan ; 
and although he continued to practice, and was concerned 
with me in the trial of several cases, 1 could form no ade- 


205 


quate estimate of his ability as a lawyer, for he was then 
in the decline of his professional life. 

But there was one quality about him, which died only 
with his death, and of which any, of the younger members 
of the Bar who were on terms of intimacy with him can 
speak. I mean the interest he took in rendering them 
assistance whenever called upon. I believe there is not so 
little jealousy in all the learned professions as in ours ; I 
think there is as much kindly feeling among us as in any 
other body of professional men ; but all lawyers do not 
feel the same interest in their younger brethren that Mr. 
Gow did. Speaking for myself, I can say that I never 
went to him for advice or assistance that he did not give 
it, not grudgingly nor patronizingly, but as freely and 
cheerfully as if 1 had been his own son. It was a pleasure 
to go to him for aid in the examination of a point of law, 
he entered so heartily into the question presented, giving 
you the benefit of his large experience, and assisting you 
in the search for authorities. Often when I would apol- 
ogize for troubling him with matters in which he had no 
personal or professional interest, he would say that it 
afforded him pleasure to assist me in any way in his 
power. 

But aside from the law, in his social intercourse, Mr. 
Gow was a kind, courteous and entertaining gentleman. 
His conversation was instructive, for he was a scholar. 
He drank from the purest literary fountains. His mind 
was a store-house of varied reading. Frequently when 


206 


1 have been at loss for a proper quotation, or the name of 
an author, I have found him able to furnish it promptly, 
or turn to the place where it was to be found. In the 
literature of the law he was well versed. Of legal 
anecdotes and wit he was particularly fond, and one of his 
great desires was to compile a book which would contain 
the finest collection of amusing cases. As a writer he had 
few superiors. His productions were generally ornate, but 
his sarcasm though never coarse, was as keen as a scimitar. 
He delivered many public addresses, and those who knew 
him in his prime say that he was a forcible speaker, 
argumentative and logical in his reasoning and chaste 
in his style. 

As an educator he was eminent, and perhaps his 
proudest monument will be the impress he has left 
on the public schools of the county. 

Mr. Chairman, I loved the man whilst he lived, and 
now that he is dead I reverence his memory. On the 
records of the court may possibly be found the names 
of some who were greater lawyers, of some who were 
more eloquent advocates, but I doubt if among them 
all will be found one who was a kinder hearted man 
or more courteous gentleman than John L. Gow. 

Mr. Watson spoke as follows : 

Mr. Chairman : Intelligence of the death of our 
deceased brother, John L. Gow, Esq., has brought us again 
together, to testify our profound respect for his memory, 
and our sense of heavy loss. He died on yesterday 


207 


morning at 3 o’clock, at his residence in this place, in 
the 69 th year of his age. He was at the Bar more 
than forty-one years, and was the oldest surviving 
member save one, the record of your court showing 
that on motion of the late Wm. Baird, Esq., he was 
admitted on the 24th day of January, 1825. 

To do full justice to the memory of our brother his 
character must be viewed in various phases. As a lawyer 
he was learned, diligent and industrious, having that great 
excellence which must belong to every successful practi- 
tioner, that he always carefully prepared his cases before 
their trial. In all his efforts in this respect he had the 
amplest means at his hand, for he had the largest and best 
library of any of his brethren. In the purchase of books 
Mr. Gow never spared expense, for if it would tend in any 
way to shed light upon the path of his investigations, the 
book was procured and placed on his shelves. 

As an advocate he was able, ingenious and effective, 
frequently embellishing his speeches with the finest and 
richest quotations. As a literary man our brother stood 
deservedly high, frequently reading and quoting from the 
ancient as well as the modern classics. He was extraor- 
dinarily fond of Milton, Shakespeare, Addison, and Byron, 
and indeed all the standard authors ; and in his private 
conversation, as well as his public addresses, he delighted 
in drawing copiously from them. 

As a teacher he was pre-eminent, whether in a public or 
private capacity — in the academy, the college or the school 


208 


— his eminence in this respect being the fruit of his thor- 
ough New England training and education. His was no 
surface learning. He came not to us with his hands filled 
with the gleanings of the field, but rather bore in his arms 
the rich, ripe shocks laden with all the precious fruits of 
the most valuable knowledge. 

As a parent also he shone most brightly. Devoted to 
his wife and children, his chief delight seemed to be to 
spend his mornings and evenings in assisting them in their 
studies, and imparting to them the benefits and blessings of 
his own thorough education. The fruit of this constant 
and faithful training is this day exemplified in the walk 
and conversation of a family which he has left as models 
for the whole community. Of his devoted wife he might 
well and truthfully have said, as Col. Benton once said in 
the Senate of the United States : “ I glory in being able to 
say that 1 have had a wife whom I never neglected.” 

A. W. Acheson Esq., said : I cannot allow the occasion 
to pass without adding my brief tribute to the worth of 
our deceased brother. He came to reside among us forty - 
one years ago, and having acquired his legal education 
elsewhere, was immediately admitted to our Bar. My 
knowledge of him, and I may say his friendship for 
me, covers the whole period. True it is, that when he 
first came to make his home among us, he was in his 
mature manhood, having attained the age of twenty-seven 
years, and 1 was a boy of sixteen, but it was one of 
the good traits of our deceased friend’s character that he 


209 


loved the society of boys, and possessed the faculty of 
endearing them to him. 

I cannot recollect the precise time of his advent, but well 
do 1 remember the circumstances under which I made his 
acquaintance. About that period the boys of the town 
had established a debating society whose weekly meetings 
were held in the old brick school house contiguous to the 
Baptist Church. Our deceased brother condescended to 
seek admission into this unpretending society, and by his 
friendly advice and criticisms contributed very largely to 
the pleasure and profit of its exercises. It was there he 
formed a special friendship for Francis Campbell, the son 
of one of his greatest predecessors at this Bar, and with 
myself. Francis Campbell died in early life, but the 
friendship thus begun between the deceased and myself 
continued till his death. 

1 was admitted to the Bar in I832, though 1 did not be- 
gin the practice of law till I835. Mr. Gow had then 
established himself as a successful lawyer. At that period, 
however strange it may appear to the junior members of 
the Bar, the legal business of the county, to a great extent, 
was divided out geographically. Hon. Thomas McK. Mc- 
Kennan, deceased, who had shortly before that formed a 
law partnership with Mr. Watson, held the entire eastern 
side of the county firmly in his professional grasp. 
Thomas McGiffin, Esq., deceased, was the acknowledged 
king of the south and west. Hon. Isaac Leet was the 
peculiar favorite of the north. It was in this last region 


210 


that Mr. Gow first acquired his strongest foot-hold. 

At that time the arbitration system had unlimited sway. 
Every suit passed through the alembic of arbitration to 
qualify it for final trial in court, on appeal by the dissatis- 
fied party. In many respects this course of procedure was 
agreeable to the lawyers. It took them into the vicinage 
of the lawsuit, and gave them the opportunity of forming 
extensive acquaintance with the people. The method of 
travel then was on horseback, and abundant time was 
afforded to the brethren of the profession for social con- 
verse in going to, and returning from, the seat of legal 
combat. 

In 1836 Mr. Leet, resolving to go into political life, hav- 
ing sought a partnership with me, became first State Sen- 
ator, and then a Member of Congress. I was thus 
brought into active practice and special antagonism with 
Mr. Gow. I cannot on this occasion, dwell on the innu- 
merable visits to Hickory, Burgettstown, Florence, and 
other places in the north, and the many social and pleas- 
ant hours we spent together. It was the most improving 
and delightful part of my professional life, and to my de- 
ceased friend am I indebted for many encouraging words, 
and much well-timed counsel, out of the goodness of his 
heart given to a junior in the profession. Thus it was, 
amidst those hours of friendship and professional inter- 
course, I acquired my knowledge of our deceased brother. 
He was a courteous gentleman; he was a true friend ; he 
was an honorable opponent, and he was a skilful advo- 

211 


cafe, fn an issue involving' disputed facts, he was a formid- 
able antagonist, especially when he had the affirmative 
and consquent conclusion of the argument. Then it was^ 
if occasion required, he could “bite like a serpent, and 
sting like an adder.” 

As a writer his style was clear, pure, forcible, attractive 
and captivating. Differing from him in politics through- 
out the greater portion of his life amongst us, in the 
warm political discussions through the public press 
on the eve of a campaign, 1 could always tell out of 
whose quiver were sped the strongest arrows at our 
vulnerable points. 

As a teacher he was indeed all that could have been 
desired. It was here perhaps his great strength lay, had 
he devoted himself unreservedly to literature as a 
profession. 

After all, as has been truly said, it was in his family, 
where he was best known and most loved, that his 
character shone forth in its most delightful traits. If 
his children rise up to call him blessed — as well they 
may — truly then was he blessed in his life and at his 
death. 

The following remarks were made by Geo. S. 
Hart, Esq. 

Mr. Chairman, were it not that I might have been 
subjected to the imputation of cold-heartedness, I should 
have remained silent after the eloquent and appropriate 
remarks of my brethren who have preceded me, touching 


212 


the death of our lamented and venerable friend. 1 
occupied, sir, a peculiar relation to Mr. Gow. 1 am 
the oldest member of the Bar, here present, who enjoyed 
the benefit of his instructions in that noble science of 
the law, which, in the language of the great Sir Wm. 
Blackstone, “ employs in its theory the noblest faculties of 
the soul, and exerts in its practice the cardinal virtues 
of the heart.” During the two years I spent in the office 
of Mr. Gow, and, I am proud to say, enjoyed his con- 
fidence, and was admitted to intimacy with himself 
and family, he was to me, then very young in years, 
and altogether inexperienced in the world, “ a guide, 
philosopher, and friend.” During that time I learned 
to love him as a man, and to admire him as a scholar, 
as a lawyer, and as what we love to call an old-school 
Christian gentleman. 

Outside of his profession Mr. Gow was a man of great 
and varied learning. Indeed, the versatility of his talent 
was something wonderful, and led a mutual friend on 
one occasion to remark to me that he had “ narrowly 
missed being a great man ; ” for, said he, “ had the 
full current of his mind been turned into one channel, 
he would have developed what the world calls genius” — 
the highest intellectual attribute among the sons of 
men. He was well read in both the ancient and modern 
classics, and all his speeches, forensic, political and literary 
abounded in felicitous quotations from those rich mines of 
learning and literature. In the natural sciences, although 


213 


not deeply learned, he was, as the common saying goes, 
“ well posted,” while few scholars excelled him in his 
learning in the higher mathematics. As a professor in our 
college, which position he filled for a number of years with 
distinguished ability and success, and as County Superin- 
tendent of Schools, he earned a high place in the atfection- 
ate remembrance of the friends of classical and popular 
education. 

Socially, Mr. Gow was one of the most genial and high- 
toned gentlemen it was ever my good fortune to meet. 
And here let me remark, Mr. Chairman, that one of the 
most prominent and amiable characteristics of the deceased, 
in his social life, was his marked and decided preference 
for the society of young men. Nothing so delighted him 
as to be surrounded by a circle of ingenuous youths, in 
whose company he felt himself to be “ a boy again.” In 
short, sir ; his heart was as young the day of his death as 
it was the day of his birth ; and higher praise could hardly 
be bestowed upon any man. 

As a lawyer Mr. Gow enjoyed for many years an ex- 
tensive and lucrative practice, in the management of which, 
as has been well remarked, he displayed distinguished 
ability, rare zeal and fidelity in the interest of his client, 
and incorruptible integrity. He always seemed to act as 
though fully conscious that he belonged to a profession 
which has always been a conservator of the higher inter- 
ests of society, and to perform his duties as an attorney in 
that view faithfully and conscientiously. 

^ RD -94 


214 


Hon. John H. Ewing also spoke in feeling and appro- 
priate terms of the many virtues of the deceased, remark- 
ing that his departure sundered the last link connecting us 
with the legal giants of the olden time, among whom he 
might mention Campbell, Baldwin, Ross, McKennan and 
others, and exhorting those who remained to lay to heart 
the lesson of mortality afforded by his decease. 

From the IVashington "^porter : 

The following tribute was written by Mr, W. S. Moore, 
the editor of the "^porter : 

It is with emotions of no ordinary sorrow that we an- 
nounce the demise of John L. Gow, Esq., which occurred 
at his residence, in this place, at 3 o’clock on Friday morn- 
ing last. Though his declining strength admonished us 
for the past year or so that the time of his departure 
was approaching, we were ill prepared for the shock pro- 
duced by the announcement that his spirit had taken its 
flight, from this world. In common with his numer- 
ous friends we had witnessed, with the deepest sad- 
ness, the gradual decay of his powers for months past, but 
still clung to the hope, vain though it was, that he might 
yet be, at least measurably, restored to health, and spared 
for a few years longer to his family and the community. 
The feeling and appropriate tributes paid to his memory 
by his brethren of the Bar, some of whom knew him for 
a much longer period than ourself, and all of whom are 
better qualified to speak of his worth, have rendered it 


215 


unnecessary fo dwell upon his personal history. We can- 
not suffer the occasion to pass, however, without bearing- 
our humble testimony to the high character he sustained 
as a lawyer as well as his exalted worth as a man. Few 
men in our community presented so rare a combination 
of all the qualities which constitute the high-toned gentle- 
man. Gifted with a wonderfully versatile talent, which 
he had developed by the highest culture, and possessing, 
withal, great kindness of heart, he was the charm of every 
social circle, and in all his intercourse with his friends was 
a model of dignified and gentlemanly deportment. 

Mr. Gow accorded to us the rare privilege of numbering 
him among our warmest and most devoted friends, and 
the numerous acts of kindness and words of encourage- 
ment received at his hands during an intimate personal 
intercourse of more than ten years, will hereafter be 
treasured up among our most cherished recollections. 
Calling to mind the many pleasant hours we have spent 
in the company of our departed friend, we cannot do 
better than borrow the language of the Scottish bard in 
his lament over the death of his patron and benefactor : 

“ The bridegroom may forget the bride 
Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 

The monarch may forget the crown 
That on his head an hour has been ; 

The mother may forget the child 
That smiles sae sweetly on her knee. 

But I’ll remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for me.” 


216 















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